A 


HERMANN   SUDERMANN 


I 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


THE  SILENT  MILL 


THE 

SILENT  MILL 

BY 

HERMANN  STJDERMANN 


NEW  YORK 

BRENTANO'S 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 
BRENTANO'S 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
STORY  PRESS  CORPORATION 


All  rights  reserved 


THE  SILENT  MILL 

NO  one  can  tell  how  many  years  ago  it  is 
since  the  "Silent  Mill"  first  received 
its  name.  As  long  as  I  can  remember  it  has 
been  an  old,  tumble-down  structure,  an  an- 
cient relic  of  long-forgotten  times. 

Old,  and  weather-beaten,  and  roofless,  its 
crumbling  walls  stretch  upwards  toward 
the  sky,  giving  free  access  to  every  gust  of 
wind.  Two  large,  round  stones  that  once, 
maybe,  bravely  fulfilled  their  task,  have 
broken  through  the  rotten  wood-work  and, 
obeying  the  natural  law  of  gravitation,  have 
wedged  themselves  deep  into  the  ground. 

The  large  mill-wheel  hangs  awry  between 

its  moulding  supports.     The  paddles  are 

broken  off,  and  only  the  spokes  stick  up  into 

the  air,  like  arms  stretched  forth  to  implore 

he  "coup  de  grace." 

Moss  and  lichen  have  clothed  all  in  green, 
1 


2  THE  SILENT  MILL 

and  here  and  there  some  water-cress  puts 
forth  its  sickly  green,  sodden  growth.  From 
a  half-broken  pipe  the  water  runs  slowly 
down,  trickles  in  sleepy  monotony  onto  the 
spokes  and  breaks  there,  filling  the  surround- 
ing air  with  fine,  drizzling  spray.  Under  a 
gray  thicket  of  alders  the  little  rivulet  lies 
hidden  in  malodorous  slothfulness,  washed 
full  of  water-weeds  and  frog-spawn,  choked 
up  with  mare's  tail  and  flowering  rushes. 
Only  in  the  middle  there  trickles  still  a  tiny 
stream  of  thick,  black  water,  in  which  the 
little  palegreen  leaves  of  the  duck-weed 
lazily  drift  along. 

But  those  long  years  ago  the  mill-stream 
flowed  right  gayly  and  jauntily;  snow-white 
foam  gleamed  at  the  weir ;  the  merry  chatter 
of  the  wheels  resounded  as  far  as  the  village ; 
in  long  rows  the  carts  drove  in  and  out  of  the 
mill-yard;  and  far  into  the  distance  there 
echoed  the  mighty  voice  of  the  old  miller. 

Rockhammer  was  his  name,  and  all  who 


THE  SILENT  MILL  3 

saw  him  felt  that  he  did  honor  to  it,  too. 
What  a  man  he  was !  He  had  it  in  him  to 
blast  rocks.  Of  course  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  trying  to  bully  or  contradict  him, 
for  it  only  served  to  make  him  perfectly  wild 
with  rage :  he  would  clench  his  fists ;  the  veins 
on  his  temples  would  swell  up  like  thick 
thongs;  and  when  he  started  swearing  into 
the  bargain,  every  being  trembled  before 
him,  and  the  very  dogs  fled  in  terror  to  their 
kennels.  His  wife  was  a  meek,  gentle,  yield- 
ing creature.  How  could  it  be  otherwise? 
Not  for  twenty-four  hours  would  he  have 
endured  at  his  side  a  more  sturdy-natured 
being,  who  might  have  attempted  to  pre- 
serve even  the  shadow  of  an  independent 
will.  As  it  was,  the  two  lived  together  fairly 
well,  happily  one  might  almost  have  said, 
had  it  not  been  for  his  fatal  temper,  which 
broke  forth  wildly  at  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion and  caused  the  quiet  woman  many  a 
tearful  hour. 


4  THE  SILENT  MILL 

But  she  shed  most  tears  when  misfortune's 
hand  fell  heavily  upon  her  children.  Three 
had  been  born  to  them — bonny,  healthy, 
sturdy  boys.  They  had  clear,  blue  eyes, 
flaxen  hair  and,  above  all,  "a  pair  of  promis- 
ing fists,"  as  their  father  was  wont  to  de- 
clare with  pride,  though  the  youngest,  who 
was  still  in  his  cradle,  could  as  yet  only  make 
use  of  his  to  suck  at  them.  The  two  elder 
boys,  however,  were  already  splendid  fel- 
lows. How  defiantly  they  looked  about 
them,  how  haughtily  they  took  up  their 
stand!  With  their  heads  thrown  back  and 
their  hands  in  their  trousers  pockets,  each 
seemed  to  assert:  "I  am  my  father's  son. 
Who'll  dare  me?" 

They  fought  each  other  all  day  long  and 
it  was  their  father  himself  who  always 
goaded  them  on.  And  if  their  mother  in  her 
terror  intervened  and  begged  them  to  be  at 
peace  with  one  another,  she  got  laughed  at 
into  the  bargain  for  her  fears.  The  poor 


THE  SILENT  MILL  5 

woman  lived  in  constant  anxiety  about  her 
wild  boys,  for  she  saw  to  her  terror  that  both 
had  inherited  their  father's  violent  temper. 
Once  already  she  had  only  just  arrived  in  the 
nick  of  time,  when  Fritz,  then  eight  years 
old,  was  about  to  attack  his  brother,  two 
years  older  than  himself,  with  a  large  kitchen 
knife ;  and  a  half  a  year  later  the  day  really 
dawned  on  which  her  dark  presentiments 
were  realized. 

The  two  boys  had  been  fighting  in  the 
yard,  and  Martin,  the  elder  one,  wild  with 
rage  because  Fritz  had  beaten  him,  had 
hurled  a  stone  at  him  and  hit  him  so  un- 
fortunately at  the  back  of  his  head  that  he 
fell  down  bleeding  and  immediately  lost  the 
power  of  speech.  They  could  stanch  the 
blood,  and  the  wound  healed  up,  but  his 
speech  did  not  return.  Indifferent  to  all 
around,  the  boy  sat  there  and  let  them  feed 
him :  he  had  become  an  idiot. 

It  was  a  hard  blow  for  the  miller's  family. 


6  THE  SILENT  MILL 

The  mother  wept  whole  nights  through,  and 
even  he,  the  energetic  hard-working  man, 
went  about  for  a  long  time  as  if  in  a  dream. 

But  the  perpetrator  of  the  disastrous  deed 
was  the  one  most  impressed  by  it.  The  defi- 
ant, boisterously  happy  boy  was  hardly 
recognizable.  His  exuberance  of  spirits  had 
disappeared;  he  spent  his  days  in  silent 
brooding,  obeyed  his  mother  to  the  letter 
and,  whenever  possible,  avoided  joining  in 
the  games  of  his  school-fellows. 

His  love  for  his  unfortunate  brother  was 
touching.  When  he  was  at  home,  he  never 
stirred  from  his  side.  With  superhuman  pa- 
tience he  accustomed  himself  to  the  brutal- 
ized habits  of  the  idiot,  learned  to  understand 
his  inarticulate  sounds,  fulfilled  his  every 
wish,  and  looked  on  smilingly  when  he  de- 
stroyed his  dearest  toy. 

The  invalid  boy  got  so  used  to  his  compan- 
ionship that  he  would  not  be  without  him. 
When  Martin  was  at  school,  he  cried  in- 


THE  SILENT  MILL  7 

cessantly  and  preferred  to  go  hungry  rather 
than  take  food  and  drink  from  anyone  else. 

For  three  years  he  dragged  on  this  miser- 
able existence ;  then  he  began  to  ail  and  died. 

Though  his  death  certainly  came  as  a  re- 
lief to  the  whole  household,  all  mourned  his 
loss  sincerely,  and  Martin  especially  was  in- 
consolable. During  the  first  months  he  wan- 
dered out  daily  to  the  cemetery  and  often 
had  to  be  torn  by  force  away  from  the  grave. 
Only  very  gradually  he  grew  calmer,  chiefly 
through  intercourse  with  the  youngest  boy, 
Johannes,  to  whom  he  now  appeared  to 
transfer  the  intense  love  which  he  had  lav- 
ished upon  his  dead  brother. 

As  long  as  the  invalid  lived,  he  had  taken 
little  notice  of  Johannes,  for  he  seemed  to 
think  it  almost  sinful  to  give  even  the  mer- 
est fraction  of  his  affection  to  any  one  else. 
Now  that  death  had  robbed  him  of  the  poor 
unfortunate,  an  invincible  longing  drew  him 
towards  his  younger  brother — as  if  by  his 


8  THE  SILENT  MILL 

love  for  him  he  might  fill  the  agonizing  void 
which  the  loss  of  his  victim  had  left  in  him — 
as  if  he  might  atone  toward  the  living  for 
what  he  had  inflicted  on  the  dead. 

Johannes  was  at  that  time  a  fine  lad  of 
five,  already  quite  a  little  man,  who  was  to 
have  his  first  pair  of  stout  boots  at  next  fair- 
time.  He  seemed  to  have  inherited  nothing 
of  his  father's  harsh,  defiant  nature ;  he  took 
much  more  after  his  gentle,  quiet  mother,  to 
whom  he  clung  specially  as  her  pet,  and 
whose  very  idol  he  was.  Not  hers  alone, 
though,  for  all  in  the  house  spoiled  and 
petted  him,  their  sunbeam,  their  source  of 

joy- 
Indeed,  none  who  saw  him  could  help  lov- 
ing him!  His  long,  fair  hair  gleamed  like  so 
many  sunbeams,  and  in  his  eyes,  which  could 
twinkle  so  merrily  and  at  other  times  gaze 
so  dreamily,  there  lay  depths  of  goodness 
and  love.  He  attached  himself  fervently  to 
his  elder  brother,  who  had  so  long  neglected 


THE  SILENT  MILL  9 

him;  but  the  disparity  in  their  ages — they 
were  nearly  nine  years  apart — did  not  allow 
of  purely  brotherly  relations  between  them. 

Martin  was  already  at  the  close  of  his  boy- 
hood ;  his  serious,  thoughtful  mien  and  meas- 
ured, old-fashioned  speech  made  him  ap- 
pear older  than  he  was.  Besides,  he  was 
already  destined  to  commence  work  in  the 
following  year.  Under  these  circumstances 
it  was  only  natural  that  he  shduld  assume  a 
somewhat  fatherly  tone  towards  his  younger 
brother,  and  though  he  was  not  ashamed  to 
join  in  his  childish  games  and  to  be  driven 
as  his  patient  horse  with  a  "gee-up"  and  a 
"whoa,"  through  the  mill-yard  and  across 
the  fields,  there  was  even  in  this  more  of  the 
smiling  indulgence  of  a  kindly  tutor  than 
of  the  spontaneous  pleasure  of  an  older 
playmate. 

The  affectionate-natured  boy,  craving  for 
love  and  sympathy,  gave  himself  up  heart 
and  soul  to  his  big  brother.  He  recognized 


10  THE  SILENT  MILL 

his  boundless  authority  more  even  than  that 
of  his  father  and  mother,  who  were  further 
removed  from  his  childish  sphere — and  when 
school-days  commenced  and  Martin  proved 
such  a  patient  helper  in  word  and  deed  when- 
ever lessons  were  hard,  then  the  younger 
boy's  veneration  for  his  elder  brother  knew 
no  bounds.  Old  Rockhammer  was  the  only 
one  who  was  not  pleased  with  the  closeness 
of  their  friendship.  They  were  too  sweet; 
they  "slobbered"  each  other  too  much,  they 
had  much  better  "live  like  cats  and  dogs  to- 
gether" as  a  proof  that  they  were  really 
"one's  own  flesh  and  blood."  But  their 
gentle  mother  was  all  the  happier.  Her 
prayer  to  the  Almighty  by  day  and  night 
was  to  protect  her  children  and  never- 
more to  allow  the  flame  of  wrath  to  burst 
forth  in  Martin.  And  her  supplication 
seemed  to  have  been  heard.  Only  once  more 
was  her  soul  filled  with  horror  through  an 
outburst  of  rage  in  her  son. 


THE  SILENT  MILL  11 

Johannes — then  nine  years  old — had  been 
playing  with  a  whip  near  some  carts  stand- 
ing in  the  yard  ready  to  take  away  flour. 
Suddenly  one  of  the  horses  took  fright;  and 
the  driver,  a  coarse,  drunken  fellow,  tore  the 
whip  out  of  the  hoy's  hand,  and  gave  him  a 
cut  with  it  across  his  face  and  neck. 

At  the  same  instant  Martin,  lithe  as  a 
tiger,  rushed  out  of  the  mill ;  the  veins  on  his 
temples  swollen,  his  fists  clenched,  got  hold 
of  the  man  and  began  to  throttle  him  so  that 
he  was  already  black  in  the  face.  Then  his 
mother  threw  herself  with  a  loud  scream  of 
terror  between  the  two.  "Think  of  Fritz!" 
she  cried,  throwing  up  her  arms  in  an  agony 
of  horror;  and  the  infuriated  boy  let  his 
hands  drop  as  if  paralyzed,  tottered  back 
and  fell  down  sobbing  on  the  threshold  of 
the  mill. 

Since  then  his  temper  seemed  to  have  died 
out  entirely,  and  even  when  he  was  once  in- 
sulted and  attacked  on  the  highroad,  he  kept 


12 

his  knife,  which  the  people  of  those  parts  are 
quick  to  use,  quietly  in  his  pocket. 

The  years  sped  on.  Shortly  after  Martin 
came  of  age,  the  old  miller  closed  his  eyes. 
His  wife  soon  followed  him.  She  did  not 
recover  after  his  death,  and  quietly  and 
without  complaining,  she  withered  away.  It 
was  as  if  she  could  not  exist  without  the 
scoldings  which  she  had  had  to  take  daily 
from  her  husband  for  twenty -three  years. 

The  two  brothers  now  dwelt  alone  in  the 
orphaned  mill.  So  it  was  no  wonder  that 
they  clung  to  each  other  even  more  closely, 
and  that  each  lived  only  for  the  other ! 

And  yet  they  were  very  different  out- 
wardly and  inwardly.  Martin,  thick-set  and 
short-necked,  was  awkward  and  silent  in  the 
presence  of  strangers.  His  bushy,  lowering 
eyebrows  gave  his  face  a  dark  look,  and  his 
words  came  with  difficulty  and  by  fits  and 
starts  as  if  speaking  were  in  itself  torture — 


THE  SILENT  MILL  13 

in  fact  one  might  have  taken  him  for  a  hard 
misanthropist,  if  he  had  not  had  such  an  hon- 
est, hearty  look  in  his  eyes,  and  such  a  good- 
natured,  almost  childlike  smile  that  it  some- 
times illumined  his  broad,  coarsely-cut  fea- 
tures like  a  ray  of  sunlight. 

How  utterly  different  was  Johannes !  His 
eyes  beamed  into  the  world  so  frankly  and 
cheerfully;  the  corners  of  his  mouth  seemed 
constantly  twitching  with  fun  and  merri- 
ment; and  over  his  whole  lithe,  pliant  figure 
was  cast  the  glamour  of  youth.  The  lassies 
all  noticed  it,  and  sent  many  a  glance  after 
him,  and  many  a  blush,  many  a  warm 
squeeze  of  the  hand  told  him  plainly,  "You 
could  easily  win  my  love."  Johannes  did  not 
care  much  about  these  matters.  He  was  not 
yet  "ripe  for  love,"  and  preferred  a  game 
of  skittles  to  a  dance,  and  would  rather  sit 
with  his  silent  brother  beside  the  lock  than 
walk  with  Rose  or  Gretel. 

The  two  brothers  had  promised  each  other 


14  THE  SILENT  MILL 

one  still,  solemn  evening,  that  they  would 
never  part  and  that  no  third  person  should 
ever  come  between  them  in  love  or  in 
hate. 

But  they  had  made  their  reckoning  with- 
out taking  into  account  the  Royal  Recruit- 
ing Commission.  The  time  came  for  Johan- 
nes to  serve  in  the  army.  He  had  to  go  far, 
far  away,  to  Berlin,  to  the  Uhlans  of  the 
Guard.  It  was  a  hard  trial  for  both  of  them. 
Martin  kept  his  trouble  to  himself  as  usual, 
but  impetuous  Johannes  behaved  as  if  he 
were  absolutely  inconsolable,  so  that  he  was 
well  teased  at  parting  by  his  comrades.  His 
grief  was,  however,  not  of  long  duration. 
The  fatigues  of  service  as  a  recruit,  the  nov- 
elty of  it  all,  the  lively  bustle  of  the  metrop- 
olis, left  him  little  time  for  dreaming  and 
only  now  and  then,  as  he  lay  in  the  calm 
dawn  on  his  camp  bed,  a  great  longing  came 
over  him;  the  homely  mill  gleamed  through 
the  darkness  like  a  lost  Paradise  and  the 


THE  SILENT  MILL  15 

clatter  of  the  wheels  sounded  in  his  ears 
like  heavenly  music.  But  as  soon  as  he 
heard  the  trumpet  call,  the  vision  passed 
away. 

Martin  fared  worse  at  the  mill,  where  he 
was  now  quite  alone,  for  he  could  not  reckon 
as  companions  the  millhands,  or  old  David, 
an  inheritance  from  his  father.  Friends  he 
had  never  had  either  in  the  village  or  else- 
where. Johannes  sufficed  him  and  took  their 
place  entirely.  He  slunk  about  brooding  in 
silence,  his  mind  ever  gloomier,  his  thoughts 
ever  darkened,  and  at  last  melancholy  took 
such  hold  of  him  that  the  vision  of  his  victim 
began  to  haunt  him.  He  was  sensible 
enough  to  know  that  he  could  not  go  on  liv- 
ing like  this,  and  forcibly  sought  to  distract 
his  thoughts — went  on  Sundays  to  the  vil- 
lage dance  and  visited  the  neighboring  ham- 
lets under  pretense  of  trade  interests.  But 
as  for  the  result  of  all  this — well,  one  fine 
day  at  the  commencement  of  his  second  year 


16  THE  SILENT  MILL 

of  service,  Johannes  got  a  letter  from  his 
brother.    It  ran  as  follows : 

"My  DEAR  BOY  : 

"I  shall  have  to  write  it  some  time,  even  though 
you  will  be  angry  with  me.  I  could  not  bear  my 
loneliness  any  longer  and  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  enter  into  the  matrimonial  state.  Her  name 
is  Gertrude  Berling,  and  she  is  the  daughter  of  a 
wind-miller  in  Lehnort,  two  miles  from  here.  She 
is  very  young  and  I  love  her  very  much.  The 
wedding  is  to  be  in  six  weeks.  If  you  can,  get 
leave  of  absence  for  it. 

"Dear  brother,  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  be  vexed 
with  me.  You  know  you  will  always  have  a  home 
at  the  mill  whether  there  is  a  mistress  there  or  not. 
Our  fatherly  inheritance  belongs  to  us  both,  in 
any  case.  She  sends  you  her  kind  regards.  You 
once  met  each  other  at  a  shooting-match,  and  she 
liked  you  very  much,  but  you  took  no  notice  of 
her,  and  she  sends  you  word  she  was  immensely 
offended  with  you. 
"Farewell, 

"Your  faithful  brother, 

"MARTIN." 

Johannes  was  a  very  spoiled  creature. 


THE  SILENT  MILL  17 

Martin's  engagement  appeared  to  him  as 
high  treason  against  their  brotherly  love. 
He  felt  as  if  his  brother  had  deceived  him 
and  meanly  deprived  him  of  his  due  rights. 
Henceforth  a  stranger  was  to  rule  where 
hitherto  he  alone  had  been  king,  and  his  posi- 
tion at  the  mill  was  to  depend  on  her  favor 
and  good  will.  Even  the  friendly  message 
from  the  wind-miller's  daughter  did  not 
calm  or  appease  him.  When  the  day  of  the 
wedding  came,  he  took  no  leave,  but  only 
sent  his  love  and  good  wishes  by  his  old 
schoolfellow  Franz  Maas,  who  was  just  left 
off  from  military  service. 

Six  months  later  he  himself  was  at  lib- 
erty. 

How  now,  Johannes?  We  are  so  obsti- 
nate that  on  no  account  will  we  go  home, 
and  prefer  to  seek  our  fortune  in  foreign 
parts ;  we  roam  about,  now  to  right,  now  to 
left,  up  hill  and  down  hill  and  rub  off  our 
horns,  and  when,  four  weeks  later,  we  come 


18  THE  SILENT  MILL 

to  the  conclusion  that  in  spite  of  the  wind- 
miller's  daughter  there  is  no  place  in  the 
world  like  the  Rockhammer  mill,  we  went 
our  way  homewards  most  cheerfully. 

One  sunny  day  in  May  Johannes  arrived 
in  Marienfeld. 

Franz  Mass,  who  had  set  up  the  autumn 
before  as  a  worthy  baker,  was  standing,  with 
his  legs  apart,  in  front  of  his  shop,  looking 
up  contentedly  at  the  tin  "Bretzel"  swing- 
ing over  his  door  in  the  gentle  noon-day 
breeze,  when  he  saw  an  Uhlan  come  swag- 
gering down  the  village  street  with  his  cap 
cocked  to  one  side  and  clinking  his  spurs. 
His  brave  ex-soldier's  heart  beat  quicker 
under  his  white  baker's  apron  as  he  took  his 
pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hand. 

"Well,  I  declare,  it's  Johannes!" 

"Hallo,  old  fellow!"  And  they  were 
greeting  each  other  with  effusion. 

"Where  do  you  hail  from  so  late  in  the 


THE  SILENT  MILL  19 

season?    Have  you  had  to  do  extra  service?" 

"For  shame!" 

Then  they  start  questions  and  confessions. 
About  the  captain  and  the  sergeant  and  old 
Knapphaus  and  the  fair  baker's  daughter 
whom  they  used  to  call  "Crumpet  Mary," 
and  who  lived  in  the  baker's  shop  close  to  the 
barracks — they  all  have  their  turn  and  not 
one  is  forgotten. 

"And  what  about  yourself?  Did  they 
recognize  you  in  the  village?"  asks  Franz, 
transferring  his  insatiable  thirst  for  knowl- 
edge to  more  homely  ground. 

"Not  a  soul,"  laughs  Johannes,  compla- 
cently twirling  his  budding  cavalry  mous- 
tache which  points  heavenwards  in  two  smart 
ends. 

"And  at  home?" 

Johannes  makes  a  serious  face  and  says  he 
must  go. 

"Oh,  you're  only  on  the  way  there  now? 
Then  I  suppose  it's  bobbing  about  in  there?" 


20  THE  SILENT  MILL 

And  he  gives  him  a  searching  thump  on  his 
chest. 

Johannes  laughs  curtly  and  then  sup- 
presses a  sigh  as  if  to  master  his  excitement. 

Franz  lays  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
says:  "Well,  you  will  find  a  sister-in-law — 
upon  my  word,  she's  a  sister-in-law  worth 
having!"  He  smacks  his  lips  and  winks  his 
eye.  It  fills  Johannes  again  with  his  former 
defiance  and  rage.  He  shrugs  his  shoulders 
contemptuously,  shakes  hands  with  his 
friend  and  goes  off  clinking  his  spurs. 

Three  more  minutes'  walk;  then  he  is 
through  the  village.  There  is  the  church! 
Poor  old  thing — it  has  got  even  a  bit  more 
tumble-down ! 

But  the  black  larches  still  rustle  as  of  old, 
and  theirs  is  the  same  sweet  song  of  happy 
promise  which  they  sang  to  him  on  the  day  of 
his  confirmation.  There  on  the  left  is  the  inn 
— by  Jove,  they  have  put  up  a  massive  new 
doorway,  and  at  the  window  there  stand 


THE  SILENT  MILL  21 

immense  liquor-flasks,  filled  with  flaming  red 
and  viciously  green  fluids.  Mine  host  of  the 
"Crown"  has  been  looking  up!  That  side- 
path  leads  down  to  the  river.  And  there  is 
the  mill,  the  goal  of  his  dreams !  How  com- 
fortable the  old  thatched  roof  looks  across 
the  alder  bushes,  how  snowy  white  are  the 
cherry  blossoms  in  the  garden,  how  cheerily 
the  mill-wheels  clatter:  "Welcome,  wel- 
come!" 

How  the  dear  old  moss-grown  weir  seems 
to  chant  a  blessing  from  afar !  He  pushes  his 
cap  a  degree  further  back  and  pulls  himself 
together  resolutely,  for  he  is  determined  to 
master  his  emotion. 

All  the  fields  stretching  on  either  side  of 
the  road  belong  to  the  mill.  On  the  right  is 
winter-rye,  as  of  old;  but  on  the  left,  where 
there  used  to  be  a  potato-patch,  there  is  now 
a  kitchen  garden — there  are  asparagus- 
plants  and  young  beetroots  arranged  in  prim 
and  orderly  rows. 


22  THE  SILENT  MILL 

Between  the  long  vegetable  borders,  about 
five  paces  from  the  fence,  he  sees  the  lithe, 
robust  figure  of  a  girl  assiduously  bending 
to  her  work. 

Who  can  that  be?  Does  she  belong  to  the 
mill?  Perhaps  a  new  maid!  Hardly  that, 
though,  for  she  looks  too  smart,  too  neat ;  her 
shoes  are  too  light,  her  apron  too  dainty,  the 
white  kerchief  so  picturesquely  draped 
round  her  head  is  of  too  fine  a  texture.  If 
only  she  would  not  so  completely  shade  her 
face!  Now  she  looks  up!  Good  heavens, 
what  a  sweet  girl!  How  her  bonny  cheeks 
glow,  how  her  dark  eyes  gleam,  how  her 
pouting  lips  seem  to  invite  a  kiss ! 

As  she  perceives  him,  she  drops  her  hoe 
and  stares  at  him. 

"Good-day,"  he  says,  and  touches  his  cap 
somewhat  awkwardly.  "Do  you  know 
whether  the  miller  is  at  home?" 

"Yes,  he's  at  home,"  she  says,  and  goes  on 
staring  at  him. 


THE  SILENT  MILL  23 

"I  wonder  what  she  means  by  it,"  he 
thinks,  fighting  against  his  embarrassment; 
and  as,  since  his  Berlin  days,  he  has  every 
reason  to  consider  himself  well-nigh  irresist- 
ible, it  is  a  point  of  honor  with  him  now  to 
step  close  up  to  the  hedge  and  attempt  a 
little  flirtation  with  the  girl. 

"Well,  always  busy?"  he  asks,  just  for  the 
sake  of  asking,  and  in  his  confusion  clutches 
at  the  ends  of  his  moustache.  Uhlan,  be- 
ware !  Take  care ! ! 

"Yes,  I'm  always  busy,"  she  repeats  me- 
chanically, while  she  stares  at  his  face  un- 
ceasingly; and  suddenly,  raising  her  hand 
and  spreading  out  all  five  fingers  as  if  she 
would  like  to  point  at  him  with  them  all,  she 
says,  as  she  bursts  out  laughing: 

"Why,  you're  Johannes!" 

"Yes,  tha-at's  m-e,"  he  stammers  in  aston- 
ishment; "and  who  are  you?" 

"I'm  his  wife!" 

"What?    You— his— Martin's?" 


24  THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Hm!"  And  she  nods  at  him  with  as- 
sumed dignity,  while  her  eyes  are  full  of 
roguishness. 

"But  you  look  like  a  young  girl!" 

"It  isn't  so  very  long  since  I  was  one,"  she 
laughs. 

They  stand  on  opposite  sides  of  the  fence 
and  look  at  each  other. 

Collecting  herself,  she  wipes  her  hands 
ostentatiously  on  her  apron,  and  stretches 
them  out  to  him  through  the  lattice-work. 

"Welcome,  brother-in-law!" 

He  returns  her  hand-shake,  but  is  silent. 

"Do  you  perhaps  intend  to  be  angry  with 
me,  brother-in-law?"  she  says,  and  looks  up 
at  him  roguishly.  He  feels  absolutely  pow- 
erless before  her,  and  can  only  laugh  awk- 
wardly and  say:  "I — angry?  Oh,  dear  no!" 

"It  looked  rather  like  it!"  she  says,  and 
lifting  her  finger  threateningly,  she  adds: 
"Oh,  I  should  only  just  have  liked  you  to 
attempt  such  a  thing!"  Thereupon  she 


THE  SILENT  MILL  25 

sticks  her  chin  into  her  collar  and  bursts  into 
a  soft  chuckle. 

"Well,  you  are  funny!"  he  says,  with  a 
rather  more  easy  laugh. 

"I  funny? — never!  You  go  along  now; 
meanwhile  I  will  run  in  through  the  garden 
and  fetch  Martin." 

And  she  starts  to  run  away,  then  stops 
suddenly,  puts  her  finger  to  her  nose  and 
says:  "Wait  a  minute;  I  will  come  across  to 
you." 

Before  he  has  time  to  stretch  out  a  helping 
hand,  she  had  slipped,  as  nimble  as  a  lizard, 
in  between  the  boards  of  the  fencing. 

"Well,  here  I  am,"  she  says,  smoothing 
out  her  dress,  while  she  lets  the  knotted  ker- 
chief fall  loosely  onto  her  neck,  so  that  a  mass 
of  little  brown  curls  escape  round  her  fore- 
head and  neck  and  begin  to  dance  in  the  wind 
as  if  delighted  at  their  newly  regained  free- 
dom. 

His  gaze  rests  with  astonishment  on  the 


26  THE  SILENT  MILL 

fresh,  girlish  beauty  of  this  young  wife,  who 
behaves  like  a  wild  unconstrained  child. 

She  notices  the  look,  and  slightly  blush- 
ing, she  passes  her  hand  over  the  curly  dis- 
order which  will  not  be  fettered. 

For  a  while  they  walk  beside  each  other  in 
silence. 

She  looks  down  and  smiles  as  if  she  too 
had  suddenly  learned  shyness.  Conversa- 
tion flags  till  they  have  got  through  the  large 
entrance-gate.  Johannes  looks  about  and 
gives  a  cry  of  amazement.  He  cannot  be- 
lieve his  eyes. 

Everything  all  around  is  changed,  every- 
thing is  beautified.  The  round  court-yard, 
which  in  rainy  weather  used  to  be  one  im- 
mense pool  of  dirt  and  in  dry  weather  one 
mass  of  dust-clouds,  now  is  all  covered  with 
turf  like  some  flowering  meadow,  the  doors 
of  the  store-houses  and  stables  are  resplen- 
dent with  bright  red  paint  and  bear  white 
numbers.  In  the  middle  of  the  open  space 


THE  SILENT  MILL  27 

is  an  artistic  pigeon-house,  like  a  little  Swiss 
chalet,  and  in  front  of  the  house  is  a  newly 
built  veranda,  round  whose  shining  window- 
panes  and  dainty  wood-carving  some  young 
creepers  twine  their  budding  tendrils.  The 
mill  lies  before  his  ecstatic  gaze  like  the  very 
home  of  peace  and  innocence.  He  folds  his 
hands  in  emotion  and  asks  "Who  has  done 
all  this?" 

She  looks  about  without  speaking. 

"You?"  he  asks,  amazed. 

"I  helped,"  she  answers  modestly. 

"But  you  originated  it?" 

She  smiles.  This  smile  makes  her  ap- 
pear older,  and  for  a  moment  her  child-like 
face  is  suffused  with  a  shimmer  of  womanly 
grace. 

"Your  hand  is  blessed,"  he  says  softly  and 
shyly,  more  in  earnest  than  is  his  wont. 

He  cannot  help  thinking  of  his  dead 
mother,  who  so  often  complained  of  the 
dreadful  dust,  and  that  in  the  whole  space 


28  THE  SILENT  MILL 

outside  there  was  not  a  single  place  where 
she  could  sit  down  in  comfort. 

"If  only  she  could  have  lived  to  see  this," 
he  murmurs  to  himself. 

"Mother?"  she  asks  him. 

He  looks  up  astonished.  That  she  should 
not  say  "your  mother"  startles  him  at  first, 
then  it  gives  him  a  feeling  of  intense  pleasure 
such  as  he  has  never  before  in  his  life  felt. 
A  sort  of  happy  glow  enters  into  his  heart 
and  will  not  leave  it.  So  there  is  now  in  the 
world  a  young,  beautiful  strange  woman 
who  speaks  of  his  mother  as  if  she  had  been 
hers  too,  as  if  she  herself  were  his  sister,  the 
sister  he  had  so  often  longed  for  in  his  foolish 
younger  days,  when  his  gaze  used  to  rest 
with  admiration  on  other  girls. 

And  now  she  softly  repeats  he'r  ques- 
tion. 

"Yes,  mother,"  he  answers,  and  looks  at 
her  gratefully. 

She  bears  his  look  for  a  second ;  then  drops 


THE  SILENT  MILL  29 

her  eyes  and  says  in  some  confusion;  "I 
wonder  where  Martin  can  be?" 

"In  the  mill,  I  suppose!" 

"Yes,  in  the  mill,  of  course,"  she  answers 
quickly;  and  with  the  words  "I  will  fetch 
him,"  she  hurries  away.  Almost  without 
thinking  he  stares  after  the  girlish  figure 
bounding  so  lightly  across  the  grass. 

Everything  about  her  seems  to  be  flying 
and  fluttering — her  skirts,  her  apron-strings, 
the  kerchief  about  her  neck,  her  untameable, 
entangled  mass  of  curls. 

He  remains  for  a  time  gazing  after  her  as 
if  spell-bound ;  then  he  laughingly  shakes  his 
head  and  walks  to  the  veranda.  There  he 
notices  a  dainty  work-table  and  on  it  a  round 
wicker-work-basket.  Across  its  edge  hangs 
a  piece  of  work  commenced,  a  long,  white 
strip  embroidered  with  flowers  and  leaves 
such  as  women  use  for  insertion.  Without 
thinking  he  takes  the  piece  of  cambric  in  his 
hand  and  examines  the  cunning  stitches  till 


30  THE  SILENT  MILL 

his  sister-in-law's  laughing  voice  reaches  his 
ears. 

Like  a  surprised  criminal  he  quickly  lets 
the  embroidery  drop — there  she  is  already, 
bending  round  the  corner;  and  the  flour- 
whitened,  square-set  figure  she  is  so  merrily 
dragging  behind  her  and  who  is  so  awk- 
wardly trying  to  divest  himself  of  her  little, 
clutching  hands,  and  dispersing  thick,  white 
dust-clouds  all  round,  that  is,  why,  that  is — 

"Martin,  dear  old  Martin!"  and  he  rushes 
out  to  embrace  him. 

The  awkward  movements  cease ;  the  bushy 
eye-brows  are  drawn  up — the  good-natured, 
quiet  smile  grows  stony— the  whole  figure  is 
fixed — the  man  draws  back — but  next  mo- 
ment he  rushes  forward  towards  his  newly- 
regained  darling. 

In  silence  the  brothers  clasp  each  other. 

Then  after  a  time  Martin  takes  the  head  of 
the  returned  wanderer  between  his  two 
hands  and,  knitting  his  brows  darkly  and 


THE  SILENT  MILL  31 

gnawing  at  his  under-lip  he  looks  long  and 
earnestly  into  his  brother's  beaming,  laugh- 
ing eyes.  Thereupon  he  sits  down  on  the 
seat  in  the  veranda,  rests  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  looks  down. 

"Why  are  you  so  pensive,  Martin?"  Jo- 
hannes asks  softly,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
brother's  shoulder. 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  I  be  pensive?"  he 
answers,  with  a  peculiar  sort  of  low  grunt 
which  accompanies  all  his  meager  speeches. 
"Ah — you  rascal!"  he  continues,  and  the 
good-natured  grin  which  is  his  in  happy  mo- 
ments spreads  over  his  heavily-cut  features. 
"You  made  up  your  mind  to  be  angry — you, 
you  ?"  Then  he  jumps  up  and  takes  his  wife's 
hand.  "Look  at  him,  Trude;  he  wanted  to 
be  angry,  the  silly  fellow!  Come  here,  boy! 
Eh — here  she  is — look  at  her  properly,  well! 
Do  you  think  you  could  be  angry  with  her?" 

Then  he  drops  clumsily  onto  his  seat,  so 
that  a  fresh  cloud  of  white  dust  flies  up,  looks 


32  THE  SILENT  MILL 

at  Johannes,  laughs  to  himself  a  little  and 
says  at  last:  "Trade,  fetch  a  clothes  brush!" 
Trude  bursts  out  laughing  and  skips  away 
singing.  When  she  returns  waving  the  de- 
sired object  high  in  the  air,  he  gives  the 
order:  "Now  brush  him!" 

"When  a  miller  or  a  sweep  grows  affec- 
tionate, there's  sure  to  be  a  misfortune," 
Johannes  says,  attempting  a  joke,  and  tries 
to  take  the  brush  out  of  her  hand. 

"Please  allow  me,  Mr.  Johannes,"  she  pro- 
tests, hiding  the  brush  under  her  apron. 

Martin  hits  the  bench  with  his  fist.  "Mr. 
Johannes !  Well,  I  never — what's  the  mean- 
ing of  that?  Haven't  you  made  friends  yet? 
—eh?" 

Johannes  is  silent  and  Trude  brushes 
away  at  him  with  great  vigor. 

"Then  I  suppose  you  haven't  even  given 
each  other  a  kiss  yet?" 

Trude  lets  the  brush  fall  suddenly.  Jo- 
hannes says  "H'm"  and  busies  himself  with 


THE  SILENT  MILL  33 

rolling  the  wheel  of  one  of  his  spurs  along  the 
scraper  standing  at  the  entrance. 

"It's  the  proper  thing  to  do,  however! 
Now  then!" 

Johannes  faces  about  and  twirls  his  mous- 
tache, determined  to  get  over  his  awkward 
predicament  by  playing  tlie  man  of  the 
world ;  but  with  all  that  he  has  not  the  cour- 
age to  bend  down  to  her.  He  stands  there  as 
stiff  as  a  post  and  waits  till  she  holds  up  her 
little  mouth;  then  for  a  moment  he  presses 
his  trembling  lips  upon  hers,  and  feels  how 
a  slight  shudder  runs  through  her  frame. 

A  moment  later  it  is  all  over.  With  a  shy 
smile  they  stand  next  to  one  another — both 
blushing  all  over. — Martin  slaps  his  knees 
with  his  hands  and  declares  it  has  been  as 
good  as  a  side-splitting  farce.  Then  he  sud- 
denly gets  up  and  walks  off.  He  must 
ponder  over  his  happiness  in  solitude. 

In  the  afternoon  the  brothers  go  together 


34  THE  SILENT  MILL 

into  the  mill.  Trude  stands  at  the  window 
and  looks  after  them,  and,  when  Johannes 
turns  around,  she  smiles  and  hides  behind 
the  curtain.  On  the  threshold  Johannes 
stands  still  and  leans  his  head  against  the 
door-post,  and  deep  emotion  fills  him  as  he 
gazes  into  the  semi-darkness  of  the  dear  old 
place  from  which  proceeds  such  a  din  of 
wheels  that  it  nearly  stuns  him,  while  the 
draught  drives  into  his  face  great  whitish- 
grey  clouds  of  flour,  bran-dust  and  steam. — 
Side  by  side  the  various  "runs"  open  out  be- 
fore him.  On  the  left,  nearest  the  wall,  the 
old  "bolting-run,"  for  the  finest  flour;  then 
the  "bruising-run,"  where  the  bran  and  flour 
remain  together;  then  the  "groats-run," 
where  the  barley  is  freed  from  its  husks;  and 
finally  the  "cylinder-run,"  one  of  the  new 
kind  only  recently  added. — They  have  also 
had  a  new  spiral  alley  and  a  lift  made. 
Fashion  now-a-days  requires  all  these  inno- 
vations. 


THE  SILENT  MILL  35 

Martin  puts  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
saunters  along  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  in 
silent  self -content.  Then  he  takes  hold  of 
Johannes'  hand  and  proceeds  to  explain  the 
new  invention — how  the  fine  flour  is  caught 
up  by  the  spiral  and  conveyed  to  the  suspiral 
where  small  pails,  running  along  a  belting, 
raise  it  through  two  stories,  almost  to  the 
roofing,  and  then  empty  it  into  the  silken, 
cylinder-like  funnels  through  the  fine  net- 
work of  which  it  has  to  pass  before  becoming 
fit  for  use.  Listening  breathlessly,  Johannes 
drinks  in  his  brother's  scant,  slowly  uttered 
words,  and  is  surprised  how  ignorant  one 
grows  in  the  army;  for  all  these  things  are 
sealed  books  to  him. 

Business  is  flourishing.  All  the  works  are 
in  full  swing,  and  the  'prentices  have  plenty 
to  do  with  pouring  the  grain  into  the  mill- 
hopper  and  watching  the  outflow  of  the  flour 
and  the  bran. 

"I  have  three  now,"  says  Martin,  pointing 


36  THE  SILENT  MILL 

to  the  white-powdered  fellows,  one  of  whom 
is  continually  running  up  and  down  the 
stairs. 

"And  is  David  here  yet?"  asks  Johannes. 

"Why,  of  course,"  answers  Martin;  and 
makes  a  face  as  if  the  mere  idea  of  Da- 
vid's being  no  longer  at  the  mill  had  scared 
him. 

"Where  has  he  hidden  himself,  the  old  fel- 
low?" Johannes  laughingly  asks. 

"David!  David!"  shouts  Martin's  lusty 
voice  above  all  the  clatter  of  the  wheels. 

Then  from  out  the  darkness,  by  the  motor 
machine,  which  rises  Cyclops-like  from  be- 
low the  woodwork  of  the  galleries,  there 
emerges  a  long,  lanky  figure,  dipped  in  flour 
— a  face  shows  itself  on  which  the  indiffer- 
ence of  old  age  has  left  nothing  to  be  read — 
a  slightly  reddened  nose,  which  almost  meets 
the  bristly  chin,  weak  and  sulky  eyes  hidden 
beneath  bushy  brows,  and  a  mouth  which 
seems  to  be  continually  chewing. 


THE  SILENT  MILL  37 

"What  do  you  want  me  for,  master?"  he 
asks,  planting  himself  in  front  of  the  broth- 
ers without  removing  the  clay  pipe  which 
hangs  loosely  between  his  lips. 

"Here's  Johannes,"  says  Martin,  patting 
the  old  man's  shoulder,  while  a  good-natured 
smile  crosses  his  countenance. 

"Don't  you  know  me  any  more,  David?" 
asks  Johannes,  holding  out  his  hand  in  a 
friendly  manner.  The  old  man  spits  out 
a  stream  of  brown  juice  from  between 
ttis  teeth,  considers  awhile  and  then  mum- 
bles: 

"Why  shouldn't  I  know  you?" 

"And  how  are  you?" 

"How  should  I  be?" — Then  he  begins 
fumbling  about  at  a  sack  of  flour,  tying  and 
untying  the  string  with  his  bony  fingers; 
then  when  he  has  made  sure  that  he  is  no 
longer  wanted,  he  withdraws  once  more  into 
his  dark  corner. 

Martin's  face  beams.    "There's  a  faithful 


38  THE  SILENT  MILL 

soul  for  you,  Johannes — 28  years  of  service, 
eh!  And  always  industrious  and  conscien- 
tious." 

"By  the  bye,  what  does  he  do?" 

Martin  looks  confused.  "Well — look  here 
— eh — hard  to  say — position  of  trust — eh — 
faithful  soul,  faithful  soul." 

"Does  the  faithful  soul  still  occasionally 
prig  something  from  the  flour-sacks?"  asks 
Johannes  laughing. 

Martin  shrugs  his  shoulders  impatiently 
and  mutters  something  about  "28  years  of 
service,"  and  closing  an  eye. 

"He  seems  still  to  owe  me  a  grudge,"  says 
Johannes,  "for  having  discovered  the  hid- 
ing place  to  which  he  had  carried  his  hardly- 
stolen  little  hoard." 

"You  will  persist  in  being  prejudiced 
against  him,"  answers  Martin,  "just  like 
Trude  too — you  are  unjust  towards  him, — 
most  unjust." 

Johannes  laughingly  shakes  his  head ;  then 


THE  SILENT  MILL  39 

he  points  to  a  door  leading  to  a  newly  erected 
partition. 
"What's  that  r 

Martin  moves  about  uneasily.  "My 
office,"  he  then  stammers,  and,  as  Johannes 
attempts  to  open  the  door,  he  runs  up  to  him 
and  catches  him  back  by  his  coat-tails. 

"I  beg  of  you,"  he  mutters,  "do  not  cross 
that  threshold.  Not  to-day — nor  any  other 
day. — I  have  my  reasons."  Johannes  looks 
at  him  in  vexation.  "Since  when  have  you 
secrets  from  me,"  he  feels  impelled  to  ask, 
but  his  brother's  trustful,  pleading  look 
closes  his  lips,  and  arm  in  arm  they  leave  the 
mill  together. 

Evening  has  come. — The  great  wheel  is 
at  rest,  and  with  it  the  host  of  smaller  ones. — 
Silence  is  over  all  the  mill  and  only  in  the  dis- 
tance the  rushing  water  of  the  weir  sings  its 
monotonous  song.  Here  of  course — in  front 
of  the  house — the  mill-brook  is  quiet  and 
peaceful,  as  though  it  had  nothing  in  the 


40  THE  SILENT  MILL 

world  to  do  but  to  carry  water-lilies  and  to 
mirror  the  setting  sun  in  its  depths.  Like  a 
golden-red,  dark-edged  streamer  it  winds 
along  between  the  straggling  thicket  of  al- 
ders, in  which  a  choir  of  nightingales  are  just 
clearing  their  throats  and,  all  unconscious  of 
their  superior  merit,  are  about  to  commence 
a  singing  competition  with  the  frogs  down 
there.  The  three  human  beings  who  are 
henceforth  to  pass  their  days  together  in  this 
blossoming,  song-laden  solitude  have  already 
become  lovingly  intimate.  They  sit  on  the 
veranda  around  the  white-spread  supper- 
table,  the  food  upon  which  has  to-day  found 
little  appreciation,  and  their  gaze  is  full  of 
intense  content.  Martin  rests  his  head  on  his 
hands  and  draws  great  clouds  of  smoke  from 
his  short  pipe,  from  time  to  time  emitting  a 
sound  which  is  something  of  a  laugh,  some- 
thing of  a  growl. 

Johannes  has  quite  buried  himself  in  the 
mass  of  foliage  and  lets  the  tendrils  of  the 


THE  SILENT  MILL  41 

wild  vine  play  about  his  face.    They  tremble 
and  flutter  with  his  every  breath. 

Trude  has  pushed  her  head  deep  into  her 
collar  and  is  looking  furtively  across  at  the 
two  brothers,  like  a  high-spirited  child  that 
would  like  to  get  into  mischief  but  first  wants 
to  make  quite  sure  that  no  one  is  watching. 
This  silence  is  evidently  not  to  her  taste,  but 
she  is  already  too  well  schooled  to  break  it. 
Meantime  she  amuses  herself  by  making 
little  pellets  of  bread  and  shooting  them,  un- 
noticed by  either  of  the  brothers,  into  the 
midst  of  the  herd  of  sparrows  hopping  about 
the  veranda,  with  greedy  intent.  There  is 
one  in  particular,  a  little,  dirty  fellow,  who 
beats  all  the  others'  cunning  and  alertness. 
As  soon  as  a  grain  of  food  comes  rolling 
along  he  spreads  both  wings,  screams  like 
mad,  and  while  fighting  he  endeavors  to  get 
it  away  by  beating  his  wings,  so  that  he  can 
take  possession  of  it  comfortably  while  the 
others  are  still  wildly  hacking  at  each  other. 


42  THE  SILENT  MILL 

This  maneuver  he  repeats  four  or  five  times, 
and  always  successfully,  till  one  of  his  com- 
rades finds  out  his  trick  and  does  it  still 
better. 

This  gives  Trude  a  fit  of  laughing  which 
she  tries  to  suppress  by  stuffing  her  handker- 
chief into  her  mouth  and  holding  her  breath 
till  she  gets  quite  blue  in  the  face — Then 
when  she  finds  it  absolutely  impossible  to 
contain  herself  any  longer,  she  jumps  up  to 
get  away,  but  before  she  reaches  the  door, 
her  laughter  bursts  forth  and  she  disappears 
into  the  darkness  of  the  passage,  screaming 
loudly  with  delight. 

Both  brothers  are  roused  from  their 
dreaming. 

"What's  up?"  asks  Johannes,  startled. 
Martin  shakes  his  head  as  he  looks  after 
his  young,  foolish  wife  whose  tricks  he 
well  knows;  then  after  a  time  he  takes  his 
brother's  hand  and  says,  pointing  to  the 
door: 


THE  SILENT  MILL  43 

"Well — does  she  look  as  if  she  would  oust 
you?" 

"No,  indeed,"  answers  Johannes  with  a 
somewhat  uneasy  laugh. 

"Oh,  my  boy,"  growls  Martin,  scratching 
his  bushy  head,  "what  a  lot  of  worry  I  have 
been  through! — I  tossed  about  in  my  bed  a 
long  night  when  I  thought  of  you !  I  mean 
on  account  of  the  wrong  I  might  be  doing 
you." — Then  after  a  time — "And  yet  when 
I  look  at  her — she  is  so  fair — so  innocent — 
say  yourself,  my  boy,  could  I  possibly  help 
loving  her?  When  I  saw  her — ah — why  it 
was  all  over  with  me. — In  so  many  ways  she 
reminded  me  of  you — merry,  and  bright- 
eyed  and  full  of  mischief,  just  like  you. — Of 
course  she  was  a  child  and  has  remained  one 
to  the  present  day — harmless  and  wild  and 
playful  as  a  child. — And  I  tell  you — she 
wants  holding  in  tighter — her  spirits  run 
away  with  her. — But  that  is  just  how  I  love 
her  to  be" — a  tender  look  brightens  his  fea- 


44  THE  SILENT  MILL 

tures — "and  if  I  rightly  think  it  over,  I 
would  not  even  miss  one  of  her  ridiculous 
doings.  You  know  I  always  must  have  some 
one  to  watch  over — formerly  I  had  you,  now 
she  is  the  one." 

After  relieving  his  feelings  in  this  manner, 
he  once  more  becomes  silent. 

"And  are  you  happy?"  asks  Johannes. 

Martin  hides  himself  in  a  thick  cloud  of 
smoke,  and  from  out  of  that  he  mutters  after 
a  time: 

"Well,  that  depends!" 

"On  what?" 

"On  your  not  being  angry  with  her." 

"I  angry  with  her?" 

"Well,  well,  you  needn't  make  excuses !" 

Johannes  does  not  reply.  He  will  soon 
convince  his  brother  of  better  things — and 
closing  his  eyes,  he  buries  his  head  once  more 
in  the  waving  foliage.  A  gleam  of  light 
causes  him  to  look  up.  Trude  is  standing  on 
the  threshold,  holding  a  lamp  and  looking 


THE  SILENT  MILL  45 

ashamed  of  herself.  Her  charming,  child- 
like face  is  bathed  in  a  red  glow  and  the 
drooping  lashes  cast  long,  semi-circling  shad- 
ows on  her  full  cheeks. 

"What  a  ridiculous  creature  you  are!" 
says  Martin,  stroking  her  ruffled  hair  ten- 
derly. 

"Won't  you  go  to  rest,  Johannes?"  she 
asks  with  great  seriousness,  though  there  is 
still  the  sound  of  suppressed  laughter  in  her 
voice. 

"Good-night,  brother!" 

"Wait,  I  am  coming  too!" 

Johannes  shakes  hands  with  his  sister-in- 
law,  while  she  turns  her  face  aside  with  a 
furtive  smile. 

Martin  takes  the  lamp  from  her  and  pre- 
cedes his  brother  up  the  stairs.  At  the  top 
he  takes  his  hand  and  gazes  silently  and 
deeply  into  his  eyes,  like  one  who  cannot  yet 
contain  his  happiness;  then  he  softly  closes 
the  door. 


46  THE  SILENT  MILL 

Johannes  sighs  and  stretches  himself, 
pressing  both  hands  to  his  breast.  His  heart 
is  heavy  for  very  joy.  He  feels  as  if  he  must 
go  after  his  brother  and  relieve  his  feelings 
by  a  few  loving,  grateful  words,  but  already 
he  hears  his  steps  downstairs  in  the  entrance. 
It  is  too  late.  But  his  mind  must  be  calmer 
before  he  can  attempt  to  sleep. 

He  puts  out  the  lamp  and  pushes  open  a 
window.  The  night  air  cools  his  brow. — 
How  soothing  it  is — how  it  wafts  peace ! 

He  bends  over  the  window-ledge,  whistles 
a  song  to  himself  and  looks  out  into  the 
night.  The  apple-tree  beneath  him  is  in  full 
bloom — a  waving  sea  of  blossoms.  How 
often  as  a  child  he  has  climbed  up  there,  how 
often,  tired  with  play,  he  has  leant,  dream- 
ing, against  its  trunk,  while  its  rustling 
leaves  told  him  fairy  stories.  And  when  in 
autumn  a  gust  of  wind  swept  through  the 
branches,  it  brought  down  a  shower  of  rosy- 
cheeked  apples,  which  fell  almost  into  his 


THE  SILENT  MILL  47 

lap. — What  ecstasy  that  was!  How  many 
things  enter  one's  thoughts  as  one  whistles! 
Each  note  awakens  a  new  song,  each  melody 
conjures  up  new  reminiscences.  And  with 
the  old  songs  there  returns  the  old  longing 
and  flies  on  butterfly's  wings  through  a  vast 
empire  between  the  moon  and  the  morning 
sun ! — 

And  as  he  looks  down  upon  the  earth  melt- 
ing into  darkness,  he  sees  how  a  window  is 
softly  opened  and  an  upturned  face  bends 
far  out.  From  out  of  a  pale,  gleaming  oval, 
framed  in  a  background  of  shadowy  hair, 
two  dark  eyes  glanced  up  at  him,  slyly  and 
mischievously. 

Abruptly  he  stops  whistling;  then  a  teas- 
ing laugh  greets  his  ears,  and  his  sister-in- 
law's  merry  voice  cries:  "Go  on,  Johannes!" 

And  when  he  will  not  do  her  bidding,  she 
points  her  own  lips  and  attempts  a  few  very 
imperfect  notes. 

Then  Martin's  deep  bass  voice  becomes 


48  THE  SILENT  MILL 

audible  in  the  house,  saying  in  a  tone  of 
paternal  reproof: 

"None  of  your  nonsense,  Trude !  Let  him 
sleep!" 

"But  he  doesn't  sleep,"  she  answers,  pout- 
ing like  a  scolded  child.  Then  the  window  is 
shut.  The  voices  die  away. 

Johannes  laughingly  shakes  his  head  and 
goes  to  bed,  but  he  cannot  sleep.  Those 
flowers  prevent  him  which  Trude  has  placed 
at  his  bed-side,  and  the  leaves  of  which  hang 
right  over  the  edge  of  the  bed.  Pale  bluish 
bunches  of  lilac  and  the  nebulous  white  stars 
of  narcissi  are  mingled  together.  He  turns 
round,  kneels  up  in  bed  and  buries  his  face  in 
the  flowery  depths.  Fondly  the  leaflets  kiss 
his  eye-lids  and  his  lips. 

Suddenly  he  listens.  From  underneath 
the  floor,  as  it  were  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  comes  a  quiet  laugh.  It  is  soft  as  a 
breath  of  wind  passing  over  the  grass,  but 
so  merry,  so  full  of  happiness. 


49 

He  listens,  hoping  to  hear  it  again,  but  all 
is  still.  "Crazy  little  body,  you,"  he  says 
amused,  then  falls  back  upon  his  pillow  and 
drops  to  sleep  smiling. 

Next  day  Johannes  fetches  down  his 
working-clothes.  They  are  a  bit  tight  across 
the  shoulders.  But  then,  one  gets  broader. 

The  sun  is  already  high  in  the  heavens. 
As  if  it  could  shine  so  brightly,  right  into 
one's  heart,  anywhere  else! — The  sun  of 
home  is  a  wonderful  thing.  What  it  looks 
upon,  it  gilds,  and  when  it  touches  one's  lips, 
they  begin  to  sing. 

"It  is  lovely  at  home — hurrah!" 

"Now  I  have  a  nest  of  merry  birds  in  the 
house,"  laughs  Martin,  coming  to  greet  him. 
"Go  on  singing.  I  am  used  to  that  from 
Trude — but  what  are  you  doing  in  that 
white  coat?" 

"I  suppose  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  idle 
here?" 

"At  least  just  for  a  day!" 


50  THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Not  for  an  hour!  My  lazy  times  are 
over!" 

Martin  has  meanwhile  noticed  the  flowers 
at  the  bed-side  and  says  with  a  grumbling 
laugh:  "Now  there's  a  little  witch  for  you! 
I  have  forbidden  it  for  myself,  and  now 
she  begins  the  same  nonsense  with  others. 
That's  why  you  look  so  pale  this  morn- 
ing." 

"I,  pale  ?    Not  in  the  least !" 

"Don't  say  a  word!  I'll  cure  her  of  her 
tricks." 

With  that  they  go  downstairs. 

Trude  is  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"She  has  been  in  the  garden  since  five 
o'clock,"  says  Martin  with  a  pleased  smile. 
"Everything  goes  like  clock-work  since  she's 
at  the  head  of  affairs.  As  quick  as  a  weasel, 
up  at  peep  of  day  and  always  merry,  always 
ready  with  a  song  and  a  laugh." 

On  their  way  to  the  mill  a  young  turnip 
whizzes  past  the  brothers'  heads.  Martin 


THE  SILENT  MILL  51 

turns  round  and  laughingly  threatens  with 
his  finger. 

"Who  was  that?"  asks  Johannes,  peer- 
ing in  bewilderment  round  the  empty 
yard. 

"Who  but  she?" 

"But  can  you  see  her  anywhere  ?" 

"Not  a  trace  of  her!  Oh,  she's  a  teasing 
elf  who  can  become  invisible  at  will."  And 
with  a  beaming  face  he  follows  his  brother 
to  the  mill. 

The  hours  pass  by.  Johannes  wants  to 
show  what  he  can  do  and  works  with  two- 
fold energy. 

While  he  is  superintending  the  storing  of 
the  grain  on  the  gallery,  some  one  from  be- 
low gently  pulls  his  coat-tail.  He  looks 
down; — Trude,  with  sun-heated  face  and 
sparkling  eyes,  stands  on  the  steps  and  in- 
vites him  to  come  to  breakfast.  "In  a  min- 
ute," he  says,  finishes  his  task  and  jumps 
down. 


52  THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Brr !"  she  says,  shaking  herself,  "how  you 
look!" 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Well — yesterday  I  liked  you  better." 
Then  she  gives  him  her  hand  with  a  "good- 
morning,"  and  trips  down  the  stairs  in  front 
of  him,  strewing  the  flour  about  for  fun  as 
she  goes. 

When  they  get  to  the  door  of  the  partition 
that  Martin  called  his  office,  she  pulls  a  mys- 
terious face  and  raises  her  hand  silently  as  if 
to  lay  a  ghost. 

Then  after  a  moment  she  asks:  "I  say, 
what  has  he  got  in  there !" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Mayn't  you  go  in  either?" 

"No." 

"Thank  goodness!  Then  I  am  not  the 
only  one  who's  kept  in  the  dark.  In  there  he 
sits,  and  every  stranger  is  allowed  to  go  in  to 
him,  only  not  I.  If  I  want  him,  I  have  to 
ring. — Say  yourself  whether  that's  nice  of 


THE  SILENT  MILL  53 

him?  Surely  I  am  no  longer  such  a  child 
that  he  should — well,  I  won't  say  anything, 
— one  oughtn't  to  speak  ill  of  one's  husband 
— but  you  are  his  own  brother — do  put  in  a 
good  word  for  me,  so  that  he  tells  me  what 
is  in  there.  For  I  am  dying  to  know." 

"Do  you  suppose  he  has  told  me?" 

"Well,  then  we  must  comfort  each  other. 
Come  along." — And  in  one  jump  she  flies  up 
the  three  steps  leading  to  the  entrance. 

During  breakfast  she  suddenly  puts  on  a 
serious  air  and  speaks  grandly  of  her 
weighty  household  cares.  Of  course,  she 
says,  she  had  to  be  independent  at  home  al- 
ready, for  her  poor  little  mother  died  many 
years  past,  and  she  had  to  superintend  her 
father's  household  long  before  she  was  con- 
firmed ;  but  it  was  only  a  small  one,  for  her 
father  had  to  manage  with  one  apprentice 
and  almost  worked  himself  to  death — poor 
father ! 

Her  eyes  are  full  of  tears.    She  is  ashamed 


54  THE  SILENT  MILL 

and  turns  away.  Then  she  jumps  up  and 
asks:  "Have  you  had  enough?"  And  when 
he  says  "Yes,"  she  continues:  "Come  along 
into  the  garden.  There's  an  arbor  which  is 
splendid  for  a  chat." 

"That  one  at  the  end  of  the  long  path? — 
that  is  my  favorite  place  too." 

Side  by  side  they  stroll  through  the  mazy 
garden  walks,  all  bathed  in  glowing  sunlight, 
and  both  feel  relieved  when  they  reach  the 
cool  shade  of  the  leafy  recess. 

She  throws  herself  down  carelessly  on  the 
grassy  bank  and  puts  her  plump,  sun-burnt 
arms  under  her  head.  Through  the  dense 
foliage  stray  gleams  of  sunlight  break, 
painting  her  dress  with  golden  patches,  play- 
ing on  her  neck  and  face,  and  passing  over 
her  head  till  they  make  her  curly  brown  hair 
all  aglow. 

Johannes  sits  down  opposite  her  and  gazes 
at  her  with  undisguised  admiration.  He  is 
convinced  that  never  before  in  his  life  has 


THE  SILENT  MILL  55 

he  seen  so  much  loveliness  as  there  in  the 
half -reclining  figure  of  his  charming  young 
sister-in-law,  and  he  thinks  of  his  brother's 
saying:  "Was  it  possible  for  me  not  to  love 
her?" 

"I  don't  know  why  I  feel  so  inclined  to 
talk  about  myself  to-day,"  she  says  with  her 
sympathetic  smile,  while  she  shifts  her  head 
to  a  more  comfortable  position.  "Do  you 
care  to  listen?"  He  nods  his  head. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  Johannes!  Well,  you 
may  imagine  that  at  home  bread  was  not 
over  plentiful — not  to  speak  of  the  butter 
which  by  rights  belongs  to  it — and  if  I  had 
not  had  my  little  garden,  the  produce  of 
which  we  could  sell  in  the  town,  we  should 
not  have  managed  at  all.  'Why  does  every- 
one take  all  their  grain  to  the  Rockhammer 
mill,  without  thinking  that  the  poor  wind- 
miller  wants  to  live  too?'  That  is  what  we 
often  thought,  and  we  positively  hated  your 
place.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  comes  Martin 


56  THE  SILENT  MILL 

— says  he  wants  to  be  neighborly — and  is 
kind  and  good  to  father  and  kind  and  good 
to  me — and  brings  toffee  and  sugar-candy 
for  the  boys,  so  that  we  are  all  mad  on  him. 
And  in  the  end  he  informs  father  that  he  ab- 
solutely must  have  me  for  his  wife.  'But  she 
hasn't  a  penny,'  says  my  father,  and  fancy — 
he  took  me  without  a  farthing!  You  may 
imagine  how  glad  I  was,  for  father  had  often 
said  to  me :  'Now-a-days  men  only  marry  for 
money ;  you  are  a  poor  girl,  Trude,  so  make 
up  your  mind  to  be  an  old  maid.  And  now 
I  was  engaged  before  my  17th  birthday. — 
And  then,  you  know,  I  had  liked  Martin 
very  much  for  a  long  time  already — for  even 
if  he  is  rather  shy  and  quiet  I  could  see  by 
his  eyes  what  a  kind  heart  he  has !  Only  he 
can't  let  himself  go,  as  he  would  perhaps  like 
to.  I  know  how  good  he  is,  and  even  if  he 
growls  ever  so  much  and  scolds  me,  I  shall  be 
fond  of  him  all  my  life !"  She  is  silent  for  a 
moment  and  passes  her  hand  across  her  face 


THE  SILENT  MILL  57 

as  if  to  wipe  away  the  sunbeam  which  is 
gilding  her  lashes  and  making  her  eyes 
glisten.  "And  fancy  how  good  he  is  to  my 
family,"  she  then  resumes  eagerly,  as  if  she 
could  not  find  enough  love  to  heap  on  Mar- 
tin's head.  "He  absolutely  wanted  to  give 
them  a  yearly  allowance — I  don't  know  how 
much — but  I  would  not  allow  that — for  I 
did  not  wish  to  induce  my  father  in  his  old 
days  to  take  alms,  even  though  it  was  from 
his  son-in-law.  But  one  thing  I  asked  for — 
for  permission  to  continue  the  gardening  as 
I  had  done  at  home  and  to  use  the  proceeds 
as  pocket-money.  What  I  do  with  it  is  my 
own  business."  She  smiles  across  at  him 
slyly  and  then  continues:  "They  really  do 
want  it  though,  at  home,  for  you  see,  there 
are  three  boys  who  all  want  to  be  fed  and 
clothed,  and  they  have  to  keep  a  servant  too 
now,  since  I  left  home." 

"Have  you  no  sisters?"  he  asks. 

She  shakes  her  head;  then  she  says,  sud- 


58  THE  SILENT  MILL 

denly  bursting  out  laughing.  "It's  really  too 
bad.  Not  even  one  for  a  wife  for  you." 

He  joins  in  her  laughter  and  observes:  "I 
don't  seem  to  want  a  wife  so  much  now." 

"As  what?" 

"As  a  sister." 

"Well,  she  is  here,"  says  she,  jumping  up 
and  stepping  up  to  him ;  then,  as  if  ashamed 
of  her  impetuosity,  she  drops  down  again  on 
to  the  grass,  blushing. 

"Yes,  will  you  be  that?"  he  says  with 
beaming  eyes. 

She  pulls  a  little  face  and  observes  care- 
lessly. "That's  nothing  much  to  be!  Sister- 
in-law  is  in  itself  already  as  much  as  half  a 
sister."  Then,  smilingly  looking  him  up  and 
down,  she  remarks:  "I  think  one  might  put 
up  with  you  as  a  brother." 

"Five  foot  ten — been  Uhlan  of  the  Guard 
— does  that  suffice?" 

"And  you  might  even  turn  out  a  good 
playfellow." 


THE  SILENT  MILL  59 

"Do  you  require  one?" 

"Yes,  very  badly!  It  is  so  quiet  and 
solemn  here.  There's  not  a  soul  to  romp 
about  with  as  I  used  to  with  my  brothers  at 
home.  Sometimes  I  felt  half  inclined  to  col- 
lar one  of  the  mill-hands,  but  dignity  and 
respect  forbade  such  a  thing." 

"Well,  I  am  here  now,"  he  laughs. 

And  she:  "I  set  great  hopes  on  you!" — 

"Then  collar  me!" 

"You  are  too  floury  for  me." 

"A  fine  miller's  wife  to  be  afraid  of  flour," 
he  teases. 

"Never  mind,"  she  interrupts,  "I  shall 
soon  put  your  playing  powers  to  the  test." 

In  the  gloaming,  when  they  are  once  more 
sitting  together  on  the  veranda,  and  Jo- 
hannes, like  his  brother,  sits  dreaming  with 
his  head  hidden  in  the  foliage,  he  suddenly 
feels  a  round,  indefinable  something  hit  his 
head  and  then  drop  to  the  ground.  "Per- 
haps it  was  a  cock-chafer,"  he  thinks  to  him- 


60  THE  SILENT  MILL 

self,  but  the  attack  is  renewed  two  or  three 
times. 

Then  he  begins  to  suspect  Trude,  who  sits 
like  a  perfect  picture  of  innocence,  humming 
quite  dolefully  to  herself,  "In  Yonder  Ver- 
dant Valley,"  while  she  works  little  bread 
pellets  which  evidently  serve  as  her  missiles. 

He  suppresses  a  merry  laugh,  secretly 
gets  hold  of  a  branch  of  the  vine  on  which  a 
few  of  last  year's  dried-up  berries  are  still 
hanging,  and  when  she  lets  fly  a  new  volley 
at  him,  he  promptly  dispatches  his  reply  at 
her  little  nose. 

She  flinches,  looks  at  him  quite  amazed  for 
a  moment,  and  when  he  bends  towards  her 
with  the  most  serious  face  in  the  world,  she 
bursts  into  a  loud,  joyful  laugh. 

"What's  the  matter  again  now?"  asks 
Martin,  startled  from  his  dreaming. 

"He  has  withstood  the  test,"  she  laughs, 
putting  her  arm  around  her  husband's  neck. 

"What  test?" 


THE  SILENT  MILL  61 

"If  I  tell  you,  you  will  grumble,  so  I  had 
better  be  silent." 

Martin  looks  at  Johannes  questioningly. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,"  says  he  smiling;  "it  was 
only  nonsense.  We  were — bombarding  each 
other." 

"That's  right,  children — you  bombard 
one  another,"  Martin  says,  and  goes  on 
smoking  in  silence.  Johannes  is  ashamed  of 
himself,  while  Trude  challenges  her  play- 
fellow with  mischievous  glances.  "Full  of 
play,"  yes,  that  was  it ;  that  was  what  Martin 
Rockhammer  had  called  his  wife. 

Henceforth  there  are  to  be  no  more  of 
those  peaceful  silent  hours  in  the  gloaming 
which  Martin  loves  so  well. 

The  quiet  paths  of  the  garden  resound 
with  song  and  laughter,  across  the  lawn  fig- 
ures dart,  as  quick  as  the  wind,  in  pursuit 
of  each  other; — they  let  loose  the  dogs 
and  race  with  them; — they  hunt  the  wild 
cats  that  frequent  the  mill-yard — they  play 


62  THE  SILENT  MILL 

hide-and-seek  behind  the  haystacks  and 
hedges. 

Martin  looks  on  at  all  these  doings  with 
kindly,  fatherly  indulgence. 

At  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  would  pre- 
fer to  have  his  former  quiet  restored,  but 
they  are  both  so  happy  in  their  youth  and 
harmlessness ;  their  eyes  sparkle  so,  their 
cheeks  are  so  rosy:  it  would  be  a  shame  to 
spoil  their  pleasure  through  grumbling  and 
interference.  Why,  they  are  but  children! 
And  are  there  not  quieter  hours?  When 
Trude  says,  "Hans,  let  us  sing,"  they  sit 
down  demurely  side  by  side  on  the  veranda 
or  saunter  slowly  along  the  river,  and  when 
Martin  has  lighted  his  pipe  and  is  ready  to 
listen,  they  warble  forth  their  songs  into  the 
gloaming.  These  are  delightful,  solemn  mo- 
ments. The  birds  in  the  trees  twitter  in  their 
slumber,  a  soft  breeze  wafts  through  the 
branches  and  the  mill- weir  with  its  dull  rush- 
ing sings  the  accompaniment.  How  quickly 


THE  SILENT  MILL  63 

their  mood  changes!  They  have  begun  so 
merrily,  but  the  melodies  grow  sadder  and 
sadder,  and  the  sound  of  their  voices  more 
and  more  mournful.  A  few  minutes  ago 
they  were  planning  nonsense,  now  they  have 
solemnly  folded  their  hands  and  are  gazing 
dreamily  towards  the  sunset.  Johannes' 
clear  tenor  tones  well  with  her  full  deep  con- 
tralto, and  his  ear  never  fails  him  when  he  is 
singing  seconds  in  some  new  song. 

It  is  strange  that  they  cannot  sing  when 
they  are  alone  together.  If  Martin  happens 
to  be  called  away  on  business  during  their 
song,  their  voices  at  once  begin  to  waver, 
they  look  at  each  other  and  smile,  turn  away 
and  smile  again ;  then  generally  one  of  them 
makes  a  mistake  and  they  stop  singing.  If 
Martin  is  not  at  home  in  the  evening,  or  if, 
as  is  his  wont  once  or  twice  a  week,  he  has 
locked  himself  up  in  his  "office,"  they  are 
both  silent  as  if  by  a  mutual  understanding, 
and  neither  of  them  would  dare  to  invite  the 


64  THE  SILENT  MILL 

other  to  sing.  Instead  of  singing  they  have 
other  more  fascinating  occupations  which  are 
only  possible  when  they  are  sure  no  third 
person  is  listening.  While  serving  in  the 
army  Johannes  had  acquired  an  "Album  of 
Lyrics,"  in  which  he  had  made  a  collection  of 
everything  in  the  way  of  merry  or  senti- 
mental songs  that  took  his  fancy.  The  senti- 
mental kind,  however,  greatly  predominate. 
Love  ditties,  dirges,  ballads  about  child 
murderers  or  innocently  convicted  criminals, 
side  by  side  with  poetical  meditations  on  the 
vanity  of  life  in  general — and  the  gem  of  the 
whole  collection  is  Kotzebue's  "Outburst  of 
Despair,"  that  sentimental  effusion  which 
was  for  half  a  century  the  most  popular  of 
all  German  poems.  This  collection  just 
suits  Trude's  taste  in  poetry,  and  as  soon  as 
she  is  alone  with  Johannes  she  whispers  en- 
treatingly,  "Fetch  the  Lyrics!"  Then  they 
crouch  in  some  quiet  corner,  put  their  heads 
together — for  Trude  insists  on  looking  into 


THE  SILENT  MILL  65 

the  book  too — and  enjoy  the  delicious  feel- 
ing of  awe  which  thrills  them  as  they  read. 

There  is  that  wonderful  "Count  Von 
Sackingen  to  his  Bride: — " 

"Farewell !    The  lonely  sorrows  of  my  heart 

In  sweetest  melody  are  all  enshrined 

Lest  thou  shouldst  guess  how  hard  it  is  to  part" 

and  that  popular  old  romance: — 

"Henry  slept  and  at  his  side 
Was  his  richly-dowered  bride. 

"At  midnight  hour  the  curtain  wide 
By  cold,  white  hands  was  pushed  aside, 
And  Wilhelmine  he  did  see, 
For  from  the  grave  had  risen  she." 

Then  Trude  starts  and  gazes  into  the  dusk 
with  large,  terrified  eyes,  but  she  enjoys  it 
intensely. 

The  holy  of  holies  in  the  album  is  a  part 
bearing  the  title  "The  Lovely  Miller-Maid." 

"Where  did  you  get  that  from?"   asks 


66  THE  SILENT  MILL 

Trude,  who  feels  that  the  title  might  apply 
to  her. 

"A  friend  of  mine,  a  musician,  had  these 
songs  in  a  big  volume  of  music,  out  of  which 
I  copied  them.  The  man  who  wrote  them  is 
said  to  have  been  called  Miller  and  to  have 
been  a  miller  himself." 

"Read,  read  quickly,"  cries  Trude. 

But  Johannes  refuses.  "They  are  too 
sad,"  he  says,  closing  the  book;  "some  other 
time." 

And  so  matters  rest.  But  Trude  so  perse- 
cutes him,  pouting  and  imploring,  that  he 
has  to  give  way  to  her  after  all. 

"Come  this  evening  to  the  weir,"  he  says — 
"I  have  to  close  up  the  sluices.  Then  we 
shall  be  undisturbed  and  I  can  read  to  you 
—of  course  only  if — 

He  winked  across  at  the  "office."  Trude 
nods.  They  understand  each  other  admir- 
ably. After  supper  Martin  withdraws  to 
his  retreat,  pursued  by  Trude's  impatient 


THE  SILENT  MILL  67 

looks,  for  she  is  dying  to  hear  what  secrets 
are  contained  in  the  "Lovely  Miller-Maid." 
Arm  in  arm  they  walk  across  the  meadow  to 
the  weir.  The  grass  is  damp  with  the  even- 
ing dew.  The  sky  glows  red  and  all  a-flame. 
The  dark  pine  wood  which  forms  a  sombre 
frame  round  the  picture  is  clearly  silhouetted 
against  the  fiery  background.  Louder  and 
louder  the  waters  rush  towards  them. 

In  the  tumbling  waves  the  glowing  sunset 
is  reflected  and  every  drop  of  frothy  spray 
becomes  a  dancing  spark.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  weir  the  river  lies  like  a  dark  mirror 
and  the  alders  lay  their  black  shadows  upon 
it  and  dip  their  image  into  its  clouded  depths. 

Silently  the  two  go  to  the  weir.  A  narrow 
plank  which  in  the  center  carries  a  draw- 
bridge, runs  alongside  the  main  beam. 
From  this  point  the  sluices  of  the  lock,  six  in 
number,  and  supported  by  solid  pillars  or 
props,  can  be  opened  or  closed  at  will  by  the 
miller.  Now  in  the  gentle  month  of  June  the 


68  THE  SILENT  MILL 

weir  gives  little  trouble,  but  in  early  spring 
or  autumn  at  high  water  or  during  the  drift- 
ing of  the  ice,  when  all  the  sluices  have  to  be 
opened  wide  and  some  of  the  supports  to  be 
removed,  so  that  the  volume  of  water  as  well 
as  the  lumps  of  ice  may  pour  down  unhin- 
dered, then  one  has  to  watch  and  put  forth 
one's  strength,  or  there  is  danger  of  being 
dragged  down  along  with  the  wood-work  by 
the  seething  mass.  Johannes  opens  two  of 
the  sluices.  That  suffices  for  the  present. 
Then  he  throws  the  lever  to  one  side  and 
rests  his  elbow  on  the  rail  of  the  drawbridge. 
Trude,  who  has  so  far  watched  him  in  silence, 
hoists  herself  up  on  to  the  big  beam  which 
runs  from  shore  to  shore  on  a  level  with  the 
rail. 

"You  will  get  dizzy,  Trude,"  says  Jo- 
hannes, anxiously  looking  down  onto  the 
"fall,"  where  over  sloping  planks  the  water 
shoots  down  in  wild  haste  and  then  rushes 
foaming  into  the  depths  below. 


THE  SILENT  MILL  69 

Trude  gives  a  short  laugh  and  declares  she 
has  often  sat  here  for  hours  and  looked  down 
without  experiencing  the  least  giddiness, 
and,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  why  he 
would  be  there.  Full  of  suspense  she  looks 
towards  his  pocket,  and  when  he  pulls  out 
the  book  of  poems  she  sighs  rapturously,  in 
anticipation  of  delights  to  come,  and  clasps 
her  hands  like  a  child  ready  to  listen  to  fairy 
stories.  The  tender  words  of  the  inspired 
poet  flow  like  music  from  his  lips. 

"The  miller's  heart  delights  to  roam" — 
Trude  gives  a  cry  of  delight  and  beats  time 
with  her  feet  against  the  wooden  posts.  "I 
heard  a  mill-stream  rushing." — Trude  listens 
expectantly.  "I  saw  the  mill  a-gleaming." 
— Trude  clasps  her  hands  with  pleasure  and 
points  to  the  mill.  With  "Didst  thou  mean 
this,  thou  rippling  stream?"  the  lovely 
miller-maid  comes  upon  the  scene  and  Trude 
grows  serious.  "Had  I  a  thousand  arms  to 
stir."  Trude  gives  slight  signs  of  impa- 


70  THE  SILENT  MILL 

tience.  "No  flowret  I  will  question,  nor  yet 
the  shining  stars."  Trude  smiles  to  herself 
contentedly.  "Would  I  might  carve  it  upon 
every  tree!"  Trude  sighs  deeply  and  closes 
her  eyes;  and  now  proceed  the  passionate 
fancies  of  the  young,  love-frenzied  miller, 
till  they  reach  the  cry  of  joy  which  pene- 
trates above  the  rippling  of  the  brook,  the 
rushing  of  the  mill-wheels,  the  song  of  the 
birds : 

"The  loved  miller-maid  is  mine!"  Trude 
spreads  out  both  arms,  a  smile  of  quiet  hap- 
piness flits  across  her  face,  she  shakes  her 
head  as  if  to  say,  "What  in  the  world  can 
come  after  this?" — Then  suddenly  com- 
mences the  miller-maid's  mysterious  liking 
for  green,  the  hunting-horn  echoes  through 
the  wood,  the  jaunty  huntsman  appears. 
Trude  grows  uneasy,  "What  does  the  fellow 
want?"  she  mutters  and  hits  the  beam  with 
her  fist.  The  miller,  the  poor  young  miller, 
soon  begins  to  understand. — "Would  I  could 


THE  SILENT  MILL  71 

wander  far  away,  yea,  far  away  from  home ; 
if  only  there  were  not  always  green  wherever 
the  eye  doth  roam."  Thus  the  burden  of  his 
mournful  strain.  Trude  puts  out  her  hands 
in  suspense  and  hope;  why,  it  cannot  be, 
things  must  come  right  again  in  the  end. 
And  then: 

"Ye  tiny  flowrets  that  she  gave, 

Come  rest  with  me  in  my  lonely  grave." 

Trade's  eyes  grow  moist,  but  still  she 
hopes  that  the  hunter  may  go,  and  the  miller- 
maid  think  better  of  it ;  it  cannot,  it  must  not 
be  otherwise.  The  miller  and  the  brook 
begin  their  sad  duologue — the  mill-brook 
tries  to  console  him,  but  for  the  miller  there 
remains  but  one  comfort,  one  rest: 

"Ah!  brooklet,  little  brooklet,  thou  wouldst  com- 
fort my  pain, 

Ah !  brooklet,  canst  thou  make  my  lost  love  return 
again?" 

Trude  nods  hastily.    "What  has  the  silly 


72  THE  SILENT  MILL 

brooklet  to  do  with  it?  What  does  it  know 
of  love  or  pain?" 

And  then — there  comes  the  mysterious 
lullaby  sung  by  the  waters.  Surely  the 
young  miller  must  have  fallen  asleep  on  the 
brink  of  the  rivulet — a  kiss  will  waken  him 
and  when  he  opens  his  eyes  the  miller-maid 
will  be  bending  over  him  and  saying,  "For- 
give me,  I  love  you  as  much  as  ever." 

But  nay — what  is  the  meaning  of  those 
words  about  the  small,  blue  crystal  chamber? 
Why  must  he  sleep  till  the  ocean  shall  have 
drunk  up  the  brook?  And  if  the  cruel 
maiden  is  to  throw  her  kerchief  into  the 
brook  that  his  eyes  may  be  covered,  why, 
then  the  sleeper  cannot  be  lying  on  the 
water's  brink,  then  he  must  be  lying  deep 
down — Trude  covers  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  bursts  into  loud,  convulsive  sobs,  and 
when  Johannes  still  persists  in  reading  to  the 
end,  she  cries  out  "Stop,  stop!" 

"Trude,  whatever  is  the  matter?" 


THE  SILENT  MILL  73 

She  beckons  him  to  leave  her  alone;  her 
weeping  becomes  more  and  more  violent ;  her 
whole  body  sways,  it  seeks  a  support,  it 
bends  backwards. 

Johannes  gives  a  terrified  scream  and 
springs  forward,  catching  her  in  his  arms. 
"For  heaven's  sake,  Trude!"  he  gasps, 
breathing  heavily.  Beads  of  cold  perspira- 
tion stand  on  his  brow — but  she  bows  her 
little  head  on  his  breast,  flings  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  cries  her  heart  out. — 

Next  day  Trude  says:  "I  behaved  very 
childishly  yesterday,  Hans,  and  I  believe  I 
only  just  missed  falling  down." 

"You  were  already  sinking,"  he  says,  and 
a  shudder  passes  through  him  at  thought  of 
that  terrible  moment.  A  sentimental  smile 
crosses  her  face.  "Then  there  would  have 
been  an  end  once  and  for  all,"  she  observes 
with  a  deep  sigh,  but  forthwith  laughs  at  her- 
self for  her  silliness. 

The  days  pass  by.    Johannes  has  fulfilled 


74  THE  SILENT  MILL 

Trade's  keenest  expectations  as  a  play-fel- 
low. The  two  have  become  inseparable ;  and 
Martin,  the  third  of  the  party,  can  do 
nothing  but  look  on  silently  and  with  a  good- 
natured  grumble  say  "Yea"  and  "Amen"  to 
all  their  pranks. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  them  whizzing  past, 
racing  each  other  across  the  mill-yard  as  if 
they  had  wings  to  their  feet.  Trude  flies 
along  so  that  her  feet  hardly  touch  the 
ground,  but  in  spite  of  that  Johannes  is  the 
quicker  of  the  two.  Even  if  it  takes  time, 
she  gets  caught  in  the  end.  As  soon  as  she 
finds  that  she  cannot  escape  she  cowers  like 
a  little  frightened  chicken;  then  when  his 
arms  encircle  her  triumphantly,  her  lithe 
body  trembles  as  if  his  touch  shook  its  very 
foundations. 

David,  the  old  servant,  very  attentively 
watches  these  doings  from  a  dormer  window 
in  the  attic,  which  he  makes  his  customary 
stand;  there  he  begins  scratching  his  head 


THE  SILENT  MILL  75 

and  mumbling  all  sorts  of  unintelligible 
things  to  himself. 

Trude  notices  him  one  day  and  laughingly 
points  him  out  to  Johannes. 

"We  must  play  some  trick  on  that  old 
sneak,"  she  whispers  to  him. 

Johannes  tells  her  the  amusing  tale  of 
how,  years  ago,  he  discovered  the  corner 
where  the  old  fellow  was  in  the  habit  of  stow- 
ing away  the  flour  he  pilfered.  "Perhaps  we 
could  do  the  same  thing  again?"  he  laughs. 

"Well,  we  must  hunt,"  says  Trude.  No 
sooner  said  than  done.  The  following  Sun- 
day when  the  mill  stands  still  and  no  servants 
or  apprentices  are  about,  Johannes  takes  the 
bunch  of  keys  and  beckons  to  Trude  to  fol- 
low him. 

"Where  are  you  off  to?"  asks  Martin, 
looking  up  from  the  book  he  is  reading. 

"One  of  the  hens  lays  its  eggs  astray," 
said  Trade  quickly.  "We  want  to  hunt  for 
them."  And  she  does  not  even  blush.  They 


76  THE  SILENT  MILL 

ransack  the  stables  and  barns,  the  store- 
houses and  haystacks  and  especially  the  mill, 
— they  tear  upstairs  and  downstairs,  clamber 
up  steep  ladders  and  rummage  in  the  rubbish 
of  the  lumber  attics. 

About  two  hours  have  gone  by  in  fruitless 
search,  when  Trade,  who  has  never  lost  cour- 
age, announces  that  in  the  furthest  corner  of 
the  store-house  she  has  found  what  she  was 
seeking.  Beneath  some  rotten  shafts  and 
worn-out  cog-wheels,  covered  by  the  debris 
of  the  last  ten  years,  stand  a  few  large 
bushel-sacks,  filled  with  flour  and  barley ;  be- 
sides which  there  are  all  sorts  of  useful  trifles, 
such  as  hammers,  pincers,  brushes  and  table- 
knives.  Loudly  rejoicing,  her  eyes  glisten- 
ing, her  face  all  dirty,  her  hair  full  of  cob- 
webs, she  emerges  from  the  cavity,  and  after 
Johannes  has  convinced  himself  that  she  has 
seen  aright,  they  hold  council  of  war.  Shall 
Martin  be  drawn  into  the  secret?  No,  he 
would  be  vexed  and  perhaps  spoil  their  fun. 


THE  SILENT  MILL  77 

Johannes  hits  upon  the  right  thing  to  do. 
He  pours  the  contents  of  the  sacks  into  their 
proper  receptacles  and  then  fills  them  with 
sand  and  gravel,  but  on  the  top  puts  a  layer 
of  lamp-black,  such  as  the  coachman  uses  for 
blacking  his  leather  trappings.  After  hav- 
ing, on  the  way,  quickly  arranged  everything 
as  before,  he  considers  his  work  completed. 
Both  depart  from  the  mill  filled  with  intense 
delight,  wash  their  hands  and  faces  at  the 
pump,  help  each  other  to  get  their  clothes 
clean  and  do  their  best  to  keep  a  straight  face 
on  entering  the  room.  But  Martin  at  once 
notices  the  treacherous  twitching  of  their 
mouths ;  he  threatens  them  smilingly  with  his 
finger,  though  he  asks  no  further  ques- 
tions. .  .  . 

Two — three  days  go  by  during  which  they 
are  consumed  with  impatience; — then  one 
morning  when  Trude  is  in  the  garden  Jo- 
hannes comes  rushing  down,  breathless  and 
red  in  the  face  with  suppressed  laughter. 


78  THE  SILENT  MILL 

She  forthwith  throws  down  her  hoe  and  fol- 
lows him  then  and  there  to  the  yard.  In 
front  of  the  pump  stands  old  David,  helpless 
and  enraged,  half  white  and  half  as  black  as 
a  sweep.  His  face  and  hands  are  coal  black 
and  his  clothes  are  full  of  huge  tar  stains. 
From  all  the  windows  of  the  mill  the  laugh- 
ing faces  of  the  mill-hands  peep  out;  and 
Martin  walks  excitedly  to  and  fro  in  front  of 
the  house. 

The  scene  is  surpassingly  comic.  Jo- 
hannes and  Trude  feel  fit  to  die  of  laughing. 
David,  who  very  rightly  suspects  where  he 
must  look  for  his  foes,  casts  a  vicious  look  at 
the  two  and  makes  a  fresh  attempt  to  clean 
himself.  But  the  tell-tale  black  sticks  to 
everything  as  if  grown  fast  upon  it.  At  last 
Martin  takes  pity  on  the  poor  devil,  lets  him 
come  inside  the  common-room  and  orders 
Trude,  who  is  laughing  very  tears,  to  find 
him  an  old  suit  of  clothes. 

At  dinner-time  the  two  tell  him  about 


THE  SILENT  MILL  79 

their  successful  prank.  He  shakes  his  head 
disapprovingly  and  thinks  it  would  have 
been  better  to  have  told  him  of  their  find. 
Then  he  mutters  something  about  "28  years 
of  service''  and  "babyish  tricks,"  and  gets 
up  from  the  table. 

Trude  and  Johannes  exchange  meaning 
looks  which  say  "spoil-sport!"  The  affair 
affords  them  ground  for  amusement  for 
three  whole  days. 

On  the  following  Sunday  Martin  makes 
an  excursion  across  country  to  get  some  old 
debts  cashed.  He  will  not  be  likely  to  return 
before  evening.  The  mill-hands  have  gone 
to  the  inn.  The  mill  stands  empty. 

"Now  I  shall  send  the  maids  off  too,"  says 
Trude  to  Johannes;  "then  we  shall  be  abso- 
lutely alone  in  the  place  and  can  undertake 
something." 

"But  what?" 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  she  laughs  and 
goes  out  into  the  kitchen. 


80  THE  SILENT  MILL 

After  half  an  hour  she  returns  and  says: 
"There,  now  they  have  gone,  now  we  can 
begin."  Then  they  sit  down  opposite  each 
other  and  deliberate. 

"We  shall  never  again  manage  to  have 
such  a  lark  as  last  Sunday,"  sighs  Trude, 
and  then  after  a  while:  "I  say,  Johannes!" 

"What?" 

"You  really  are  a  great  boon  to  me  I" 

"In  what  way?" 

"Since  you  came  I  have  been  three  times 
as  happy.  You  see — he  is  ever  so  kind  and 
you  know — I  am  fond  of  him,  very  fond,  but 
— he  is  always  so  serious,  so  condescending, 
as  if  I  were  a  silly,  senseless  child — and 
don't  you  think  I  am  hardworking  and  take 
care  of  his  household  as  well  as  any  one 
older?  Surely  it's  not  my  fault  that  I  was 
born  so  full  of  fun  and  it  isn't,  after  all,  a 
crime  to  be  like  that — but  under  his  eyes, 
when  he  looks  at  one  so  solemnly  and  re- 
proachfully, why  it  spoils  all  one's  pleasure 


THE  SILENT  MILL  81 

in  any  nonsense.  .  .  .  And  when  one  has 
to  sit  there  quite  still,  it's  sometimes  so  aw- 
fully full  and  so  ..." 

She  stops  and  considers.  She  would  like 
to  pour  out  her  grievances  to  him,  but  hardly 
knows  what  they  are? 

"With  you  it  is  quite  different,"  she  con- 
tinues, "you  are  a  dear,  good  fellow,  and 
never  say  'no'  to  anything.  With  you  one 
can  do  as  one  likes! — And  besides,  you 
haven't  got  his  irritating  smile  which  he  puts 
on  when  I  tell  him  anything,  as  much  as  to 
say:  *I  don't  mind  listening  to  you,  but  of 
course  you  are  only  talking  rubbish.'  Then 
the  words  seem  to  stick  in  my  throat — where- 
as with  you  .  .  .  well,  one  can  tell  you 
anything  that  comes  into  one's  head." 

She  pensively  rests  her  head  on  her  two 
hands  and  moves  her  elbows  about  on  her 
knees. 

"Well,  and  what  is  coming  into  your  head 
now?"  he  asks. 


82  THE  SILENT  MILL 

She  blushes  and  jumps  up.  "Catch  me," 
she  cries  and  barricades  herself  behind  the 
table;  but  when  he  attempts  to  pursue  her 
she  walks  calmly  towards  him  and  says; 
"leave  that!  We  were  going  to  undertake 
something,  you  know. — Keep  the  keys 
handy;  in  any  case — perhaps  we  shall  think 
of  something  on  the  way." 

He  takes  the  great  bunch  of  keys  from  its 
peg  and  follows  her  out  into  the  yard,  on 
which  the  hot  midday  sun  is  glaring. 

"Unlock  the  mill,"  she  says,  "it  is  cool  in 
there."  He  does  as  he  is  bid,  and  with  one 
wild  leap  she  jumps  down  the  steps  into  the 
half-dark  space  which  lies  before  them  in 
Sabbath  quiet. 

"I  should  be  frightened  to  be  here  alone," 
she  says,  looking  round  at  him,  then  she 
points  to  the  door  of  the  office,  the  light  wood 
of  which  gleams  through  the  semi-obscurity, 
spreads  open  her  fingers  and  shudders. 

"Has  he  never  yet  told  you  anything?"  she 


THE  SILENT  MILL  83 

whispers  after  a  little  while,  bending  towards 
his  ear. 

He  shakes  his  head.  He  grows  somewhat 
oppressed  in  this  close,  dimly-lighted  place — 
he  breathes  heavily — he  longs  for  light  and 
fresh  air. — But  Trude  feels  all  the  more 
comfortable  in  this  vapor-laden  atmosphere, 
in  this  mysterious  twilight,  where  through 
the  closed  shutters  stray  slanting  sunbeams 
glide  like  golden  streamers  onto  the  floor, 
and  form  a  play -ground  for  myriads  of  little 
dancing  particles  of  dust.  The  tremor  which 
fills  her  is  just  to  her  liking; — she  crouches 
down,  then  stealthily  creeps  up  the  stairs  as 
if  on  the  lookout  for  ghosts.  When  she 
reaches  the  gallery  she  gives  a  loud  scream, 
and  when  Johannes  anxiously  asks  what  ails 
her,  she  says  she  only  felt  she  must  give  vent 
to  her  feelings. 

She  climbs  up  to  a  mill-hopper,  clambers 
over  the  balustrade  and  slides  down  again  on 
the  banisters.  Then  she  disappears  in  the 


84  THE  SILENT  MILL 

darkness  among  the  machinery,  where  the 
huge  wheels  tower  above  each  other  in  gi- 
gantic masses.  Johannes  lets  her  do  just  as 
she  likes;  to-day  there  is  no  danger,  to-day 
everything  is  at  a  standstill. 

A  few  seconds  later  she  re-appears.  She 
nestles  up  to  Johannes'  side,  looks  about  with 
startled  eyes,  then  pulls  from  her  pocket  a 
small  key,  hanging  on  a  black  ribbon. 
"What  is  this?"  she  asks  softly. 

Johannes  throws  a  rapid  glance  towards 
the  office  door  and  looks  at  her  enquiringly. 
She  nods. 

"Put  it  back,"  he  cries,  alarmed. 

She  balances  the  key  in  her  hand  and 
gazes  longingly  at  the  shining  metal.  "I 
once  saw  by  chance  where  he  hid  it,"  she 
whispers. 

"Put  it  back,"  he  says  once  more. 

She  knits  her  brows,  then  she  suggests 
with  a  short  laugh:  "That  would  be  some- 
thing for  us  to  undertake."  With  that  she 


THE  SILENT  MILL  85 

casts  a  timorous  side-glance  at  his  face  to  try 
and  explore  his  mood. 

His  heart  beats  audibly.  In  his  soul  there 
dawns  the  presentiment  of  approaching 
guilt. 

"It  would  remain  between  us  two,  you 
know,  Hans,"  she  says  coaxingly.  He 
closes  his  eyes.  How  delightful  it  would  be 
to  have  a  secret  with  her!  "And  after  all, 
what  is  there  in  it?"  she  continues.  "Why 
should  he  be  so  mysterious  about  it,  espe- 
cially to  us  two,  who  are  his  next  of  kin  in  the 
world?" 

"That's  just  why  we  ought  not  to  deceive 
him!"  he  replies. 

She  stamps  her  foot  on  the  ground. 

"Deceive  indeed!  It's  a  shame  to  use 
such  a  nasty  expression!"  Then  she  says, 
pouting:  "Well,  then  don't!"  and  pre- 
pares to  return  the  key  to  its  hiding-place. 
But  she  turns  it  about  in  her  fingers 
three  or  four  times,  and  finally  remarks, 


86  THE  SILENT  MILL 

laughing,  "Perhaps  it  isn't  the  right  one 
after  all." 

She  goes  up  to  the  door  and  with  a  shake 
of  her  head  compares  the  keyhole  and  the 
shape  of  the  key — but, — then,  with  a  sudden 
jerk,  she  pushes  the  key  into  the  lock. 

"It  fits,  after  all,"  she  says,  and  looks  with 
apparent  disappointment  back  over  her 
shoulder  at  Johannes,  who  is  standing  behind 
her,  anxiously  watching  the  movements  of 
her  hands. 

"Turn  it!"  she  says  in  jest,  and  steps  back 
from  the  door. 

A  tremor  passes  through  his  body.    Ah, 

Eve,  thou  temptress ! 

* 

"Turn  it  and  let  me  put  my  head  in,"  she 
laughs,  "you  needn't  look  at  anything  your- 
self." 

Then  a  sudden  rage  takes  hold  of  him ;  he 
lets  the  key  fly  back  with  a  jerk  and  pushes 
the  door  wide  open,  so  that  a  bright  stream 
of  light  from  the  window  floods  towards 


THE  SILENT  MILL  8 

them.  Trude  makes  a  disappointed  face. 
All  they  see  is  a  plain,  business-like  room 
with  bare,  whitewashed  wooden  walls.  In 
the  middle  stands  a  large,  roughly  painted 
writing-table  on  which  lie  samples  of  grain 
and  ledgers.  On  one  wall  hangs  a  bundle  of 
old  clothes,  and  on  the  opposite  one  a  wooden 
shelf  with  some  blue  exercise-books  and  a 
few  plainly  bound  volumes  upon  it.  Jo- 
hannes casts  a  few  timid  glances  around, 
then  steps  up  to  the  book-shelf  and  begins 
turning  over  the  title-pages.  What  an  un- 
canny collection!  There  are  medical  works 
on  brain  diseases,  fractures  of  the  skull  and 
the  like,  philosophical  treatises  on  the  hered- 
ity of  passion,  a  "History  of  Passion  and  its 
Terrible  Consequences."  "Method  for  Self- 
Restraint,"  and  Kant's  "Art  of  Overcoming 
Morbid  Feeling  by  Pure  Force  of  Will." 
There  are  literary  works,  too,  but  they 
nearly  all  treat  of  fratricide  as  their  subject. 
Side  by  side  with  such  thrilling  romances  as 


88  THE  SILENT  MILL 

"The  Tragic  Fate  of  a  Whole  Family  at 
Elsterwerda,"  are  Schiller's  "Bride  of  Mes- 
sina," and  Leisowitz's  "Julius  of  Tarent." 
Even  theology  is  represented  by  a  number 
of  little  tracts  on  the  deadly  sins  and  their 
remission.  Besides  these,  the  blue  exercise- 
books  contain  carefully  made  extracts  and 
dissertations  and  morbid  reflections  upon 
things  experienced  and  mused  over. 

Johannes  lets  his  hands  drop.  "My  poor, 
poor  brother!"  he  murmurs  with  a  deep  sigh. 
Then  he  feels  Trude's  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
She  points  to  a  tablet  hanging  above  the 
door,  and  asks  in  an  anxious  whisper:  "What 
does  that  signify?" 

In  large  gold  letters  these  words  are  there 
inscribed : 

Think  of  Fritz! 

Johannes  does  not  answer.  He  throws 
himself  into  a  chair,  buries  his  face  in  his 
hands  and  weeps  bitterly. 

Trude  trembles  in  every  limb.    She  calls 


THE  SILENT  MILL  89 

him  by  name,  puts  her  arm  round  his  neck, 
tries  to  remove  his  hands  from  his  face,  and, 
when  all  this  avails  nothing,  she  bursts  into 
tears  herself.  When  he  hears  her  sobbing, 
he  raises  his  head  and  looks  about  in  a  dazed 
sort  of  way.  His  gaze  rests  on  the  clothes 
hanging  upon  the  wall,  boy's  clothes  of  many 
years  ago.  He  knows  them  well.  His 
mother  used  to  keep  them  as  relics  at  the  bot- 
tom of  her  linen-press,  and  once  showed  them 
to  him  with  the  words:  "These  were  worn  by 
your  little  dead  brother."  Since  her  death 
the  clothes  had  disappeared.  Nor  had  he 
ever  thought  of  them  again.  A  shudder  runs 
through  his  frame. 

"Come,"  he  says  to  Trude,  who  is  still 
crying  to  herself,  and  they  both  leave  the 
office.  Trude  wants  to  get  out  of  the  mill 
forthwith. 

"First  take  the  key  back,"  he  says. 

Together  they  descend  the  stairs  leading 
down  to  the  machinery,  and,  when  the  key 


90  THE  SILENT  MILL 

hangs  in  its  old  place,  they  both  rush  out  into 
the  open  air  as  if  pursued  by  furies. 

With  this  hour  their  intercourse  has  lost 
its  old  harmlessness.  They  have  become 
participants  in  guilt.  The  feeling  of  guilt 
rests  with  terrible  weight  on  their  youthful 
souls.  They  pity  each  other,  for  each  reads 
the  story  of  his  own  conscience  in  the  other's 
silent  depression,  suppressed  sighs  and  ill- 
concealed  absent-mindedness — but  neither 
can  help  the  other. 

How  gladly  they  would  confess  their  fault 
to  Martin. — But  it  would  not  do  to  go  to 
him  together  and  say,  "Forgive  us — we  have 
sinned" — it  would  really  look  too  theatrical 
— and  if  one  of  them  takes  the  confession 
upon  himself,  he  gains  no  mean  advantage 
over  the  other.  They  are  both  equally 
closely  connected  with  Martin  and  whoever 
is  the  first  to  break  silence  must  perforce 
appear  to  him  as  the  more  upright  and  less 


THE  SILENT  MILL  91 

guilty  one.  Besides,  they  have  vowed  abso- 
lute secrecy  to  each  other  and  feel  all  the 
less  inclined  to  break  their  word,  as  they 
are  afraid  to  converse  openly  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

Thus  more  and  more  a  sort  of  clandestine 
understanding  is  nurtured  between  them; 
every  harmless  word  spoken  at  table  has  for 
them  a  special,  deep  significance ;  every  look 
they  exchange  becomes  an  emblem  of  secret 
agreement. 

Martin  notices  nothing  of  all  this;  only 
now  and  again  it  strikes  him  that  "his  two 
children"  have  lost  a  good  deal  of  their  old 
cheerfulness  and  that  they  no  longer  sing  so 
merrily.  He  makes  no  remark,  however,  for 
he  thinks  they  may  have  quarreled  and  are 
still  sulking  with  one  another. 

t 
The  following  week,  when  Martin  has 

once  again  shut  himself  up  in  his  office, 
Trude  takes  heart  and  says :  "I  say,  Hans,  it 


92  THE  SILENT  MILL 

is  nonsense  for  us  to  fret  ourselves.  We  will 
let  the  stupid  affair  rest." 

He  makes  a  melancholy  face  and  says:  "If 
only  it  were  possible!" 

She  bursts  out  laughing  and  he  laughs 
with  her;  it  is  "possible,"  of  course,  but  the 
love  of  concealment  to  which  they  have  pan- 
dered will  not  be  shaken  off.  Every  foolish 
joke  gains  piquancy  by  the  fact  that  Martin 
"on  no  account"  must  get  to  know  about  it, 
and  when  they  are  whispering  with  their 
heads  together,  they  start  asunder  at  the 
least  noise  as  if  they  were  planning  conspir- 
acy. 

As  yet  no  word  has  been  spoken,  no  look 
exchanged,  hardly  a  thought  awakened 
which  need  shun  the  light,  but  the  bloom  of 
innocence  has  been  swept  off  their  souls.  In 
this  wise  the  feast  of  St.  John  has  come 
round. 

The  wind  blows  sultry.  The  earth  lies  as 
if  intoxicated — buried  beneath  blossoms,  re- 


THE  SILENT  MILL  93 

veling  in  a  superabundance  of  fragrance. 
The  jasmine  and  guelder-rose  bushes  appear 
as  though  covered  with  white  foam;  the 
spring  roses  open  their  chalices,  and  the 
limes  are  putting  forth  their  buds  already. 

Trude  sits  on  the  veranda,  has  let  her  work 
drop  into  her  lap  and  is  a-dreaming.  The 
fragrance  of  the  flowers  and  the  sun's  hot 
glow  have  confused  her  senses,  but  she  heeds 
not  that.  The  flowers'  fragrance  and  the 
sun's  hot  breath,  she  would  love  to  drain  all 
the  flower-cups — if  only  they  contained 
something  to  drink. 

In  the  mill  they  have  ceased  working  ear- 
lier than  usual,  for  the  apprentices  want  to 
go  to  the  village  to  the  midsummer  night's 
fete.  There  is  to  be  dancing  and  firing  of 
tar-barrels  and  everyone  will  enjoy  himself 
to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

Trude  sighs.  Ah,  for  a  chance  of  going 
there  too!  Martin  may  stay  at  home,  but 
Johannes,  Johannes  of  course  would  have  to 


94  THE  SILENT  MILL 

accompany  her  there.  There  he  stands  at 
the  entrance  and  nods  across  at  her.  Then 
he  throws  himself  down  on  the  bench  oppo- 
site— he  is  tired  and  hot.  He  has  been  work- 
ing hard. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  jumps  up  again. 
"I  can't  stay  here,"  he  says.  "It  is  suffocat- 
ingly hot." 

"Where  else  do  you  want  to  go?" 

"Down  to  the  weir.    Will  you  come  too?" 

"Yes." 

And  she  throws  down  her  work  and  takes 
his  arm. 

"They  are  going  to  dance  down  in  the  vil- 
lage to-day,"  says  she 

"I  suppose  that's  where  you  would  like  to 
go  too,  you  puss?" 

She  wrings  her  hands  and  groans,  so  as  to 
give  the  most  drastic  expression  to  her  long- 
ing. 

"But  I  cannot  have  my  way ;  For  at  home 
I've  got  to  stay,"  he  hums. 


THE  SILENT  MILL  95 

"It's  a  regular  shame,"  she  grumbles, 
"that  I  have  never  yet  in  my  life  danced  with 
you. — And  I  should  like  to  immensely,  for 
you  dance  well — very  well!" 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"What  a  question!"  she  says  with  feigned 
indignation.  "Think  of  that  rifle  fete  three 
years  ago.  All  the  girls  told  wonders  of  how 
well  you  held  them  during  the  dance — not 
too  loose  and  not  too  tight; — and  that  you 
were  tall  and  good-looking  I  could  see  for 
myself — but  what  good  was  all  that  to  me? 
You  overlooked  me  as  utterly  as  if  I  were 
nothing  but  empty  air." 

"How  old  were  you  at  that  time?" 

She  hesitates  a  little,  then  says  dejectedly: 
"Fourteen  and  a  half." 

"Well,  that's  the  explanation,"  he  laughs. 

"But  I  was  then  already  tall  and — and — 
full  grown,"  she  answers  eagerly.  "It 
wouldn't  have  hurt  you  to  have  whirled  me 
round  the  room  a  few  times." 


96  THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Well,  we  can  make  up  for  it  in  a  fort- 
night at  the  rifle  fete." 

"Yes,  can  we?"  she  asks  with  beaming 
eyes. 

"Martin  is  one  of  the  patrons  of  the  shoot- 
ers' company.  That  is  in  itself  a  reason  for 
his  being  present." 

Trude  gives  vent  loudly  to  her  delight; 
then  in  sudden  perplexity  she  says:  "But  I 
have  no  dancing  shoes." 

"Have  some  made  for  yourself." 

"Oh,  our  village  cobbler  is  such  a  clumsy 
worker." 

".Then  I  will  order  you  a  pair  from  town. 
You  need  only  give  me  your  measure." 

"Will  you  really?  Oh,  you  dear,  darling 
Hans!"  And  then  she  suddenly  withdraws 
her  arm,  runs  forward  a  few  steps,  calls  out 
"catch  me,"  and  whisks  away.  Johannes 
starts  in  pursuit, — but  he  is  tired — he  cannot 
overtake  her.  Across  the  drawbridge  of  the 
weir  the  chase  proceeds  across  on  to  the  vast 


THE  SILENT  MILL  97 

grass  plain,  stretching  as  far  as  the  distant 
pine  wood.  Trude  dodges  him  cleverly, — 
runs  past  him — and  before  he  can  follow,  she 
is  once  more  on  this  side  of  the  river. 
Breathlessly  she  makes  a  dash  for  the  chain 
by  which  the  drawbridge  is  regulated ;  from 
on  shore — she  tears  at  it  with  all  her  might ; 
the  wood-work  moves  creaking  on  its  hinges 
— and  jerks  upwards — at  the  very  moment 
when  Johannes  springs  on  to  the  foot-plank. 
He  staggers,  he  cries  out, — and  clutching 
hold  of  the  main  beam,  he  manages  by  sheer 
force  to  stem  its  movement  just  as  the  gap  is 
opening.  Trude  has  turned  as  white  as  a 
sheet,  she  stares  speechlessly  at  him,  as, 
gasping  for  breath,  he  gazes  down  into  the 
dark  abyss. 

"I  didn't — think  of  that,  Hans,"  she  stam- 
mers with  a  look  which  very  eloquently 
pleads  forgiveness. 

He  laughs  out  loud.  A  wild,  devil-may- 
care  feeling  of  happiness  has  come  over  him. 


98  THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Oh  you — you!"  he  cries,  opening  out  his 
arms.  "I  shall  have  you  yet."  And  with  a 
fool-hardy  leap  he  jumps  on  to  the  narrow 
main-beam,  which,  with  its  two  slanting, 
roof-shaped  sides,  spans  the  river. 

"Hans — for  God's  sake — Hans!" 

He  does  not  hear — beneath  him  is  the 
foaming  abyss — he  has  hard  work  to  keep  his 
balance — he  moves  forward — he  trembles — 
he  sways — three  more — two  more  steps — 
only  one  more  daring  leap — he  is  over. 

"Now  run!"  he  cries,  with  a  wild  shout  of 
glee. 

But  Trude  does  not  stir.  She  stares  in  his 
direction,  paralyzed  with  terror.  Like  a 
tiger  he  springs  towards  her — he  encircles 
her  with  his  arms — he  presses  her  to  him — 
she  closes  her  eyes  and  breathes  heavily — 
then  he  bends  down  and  lays  his  hot  and 
thirsting  lips  upon  hers.  She  gives  a  loud 
moan — her  body  trembles  feverishly  in  his 
embrace.  Then  he  lets  her  glide  down — his 


THE  SILENT  MILL  99 

affrighted  gaze  travels  around — has  no  one 
seen  it?  "No,  no  one!"  And  what  if  they 
have?  May  Martin's  brother  not  kiss 
Martin's  wife?  Did  not  he  himself  once  re- 
quire it  of  him? 

She  opens  her  eyes  as  though  awaken- 
ing from  a  deep  dream.  Her  eyes  avoid 
his. 

"That  was  not  nice  of  you,  Hans,"  she 
says  softly,  "you  must  never  do  that  to  me 
again!" 

He  does  not  answer  and  stoops  to  pick  up 
the  rose  which  has  fallen  from  her  bosom. 

"Let  me  go  home,"  she  says,  casting  a 
frightened  look  around. 

They  walk  along  side  by  side  for  a  while  in 
silence;  she  gazes  into  space;  he  smells  the 
rose  he  has  found. 

"Do  you  like  roses?"  he  continues.  She 
looks  at  him.  "As  if  you  did  not  know  that," 
her  look  says. 

"By  the  bye,"  he  goes  on  gaily,  "why  do 


100         THE  SILENT  MILL 

you  no  longer  put  flowers  at  my  bed-side 
now?" 

"He  has  forbidden  me,"  she  stammers. 

"That  alters  the  case,"  he  replies,  crest- 
fallen. Then  their  conversation  comes  to  a 
standstill  altogether. 

On  the  veranda  Martin  receives  them  with 
a  good-natured  scolding.  He  declares  he  is 
ravenously  hungry,  and  supper  is  not  yet 
served. 

LTrude  hurries  to  the  kitchen  to  give  a 
helping  hand  herself.  .  .  .  The  meal  is 
consumed  in  silence.  The  two  do  not  raise 
their  eyes  from  their  plates.  An  atmosphere 
of  unbearable  sultriness  oppresses  the  earth. 
The  hot  wind  whirls  up  small  dust  clouds 
and  bluish  grey  veils  of  mist  settle  down 
slowly. 

Johannes  leans  his  head  against  the  glass 
of  the  veranda  window,  but  that  is  as  hot  as 
if  it  had  been  all  day  in  a  fiery  furnace. 
Then  Trude  suddenly  jumps  up. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          101 

"Where  are  you  going  to?"  asks  Martin. 

"Into  the  garden,"  she  replies. 

After  a  while  they  hear  her  mounting  the 
stairs  that  lead  to  the  turret  room.  When 
she  comes  out  again  she  gives  Johannes  a 
quick,  timid  look,  then  takes  her  seat  with 
downcast  eyes. 

From  the  village  green  come  sounds  of 
merry-making  and  screams  of  enjoyment, 
mingled  with  the  squeak  of  the  fiddle  and  the 
drone  of  the  double-bass. 

"I  suppose  you'd  like  to  go  there,  chil- 
dren?" They  are  both  silent  and  he  takes 
their  silence  for  consent.  "Well,  then  come 
along,"  he  says,  getting  up.  Trude  stretches 
out  her  arms  in  silent  anguish,  looks  across 
wistfully  at  Johannes,  then  with  a  shake  of 
her  head  she  says,  "Don't  care  about  it!" 

"Why,  what's  up?"  cried  Martin,  quite 
taken  aback.  "Since  when  do  you  get  out  of 
the  way  of  dance  music?  I  suppose  you  two 
have  been  squabbling  again,  eh?" 


102          THE  SILENT  MILL 

Johannes  laughs  curtly  and  Trude  turns 
away.  Suddenly  she  gets  up,  says  laconic- 
ally, "Good-night,"  and  disappears. 

A  little  later  the  brothers,  too,  part  com- 
pany. 

With  heavy  limbs  Johannes  mounts  the 
stairs — he  opens  the  door  of  his  room — an 
intoxicating  fragrance  of  flowers  wells 
towards  him.  He  draws  a  deep  breath  and 
utters  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  Then  this  was 
the  reason  for  going  at  such  a  late  hour  into 
the  garden !  By  the  side  of  his  pillow  stands 
a  huge  'bunch  of  rose  and  jasmine.  He 
drops  into  bed  as  if  he  would  like  to  bury 
himself  beneath  this  mass  of  blossoms.  For 
a  while  he  lies  a-dreaming  quietly  to  himself, 
but  his  breathing  becomes  more  and  more 
labored,  his  senses  grow  dim, — at  every 
pulsation  a  poignant  pain  darts  through 
his  temples, — he  feels  as  though  he  must 
succumb  beneath  this  overpowering  fra- 
grance. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          103 

Exerting  all  his  force  of  will,  he  pulls  him- 
self up  and  pushes  open  a  window.  But 
even  this  brings  no  calm,  no  relief.  A  very 
chaos  of  fragrance  wafts  up  to  him  from  the 
garden — the  wind  breathes  hotly  upon  him, 
lukewarm,  tingling  drops  of  rain  beat  upon 
his  face.  Down  in  the  village  the  fires 
from  the  tar-barrels  shoot  fitfully  through 
the  nebulous  clouds  of  mist  veiling  the  dis- 
tance. 

Johannes  looks  down.  He  is  waiting. 
His  heart  is  beating  audibly.  His  longing 
appears  to  him  almighty — he  will  force  that 
window  below  to  open  and  .  .  .  hark! 
Softly  the  latch  is  pushed  back,  one  sash  is 
thrown  open,  and  there,  leaning  far  out, 
framed  by  waving  unbound  tresses,  Trude's 
face  appears,  straining  upwards  to  him  with 
mute  yearning. 

One  moment — then  it  has  vanished.    He 

knows  not — shall  he  exult,  or  shall  he  weep? 

—Now  he  may  sink  into  sweet  unconscious- 


104         THE  SILENT  MILL 

ness — What  can  the  fragrance  harm  him 
now? 

He  undresses  and  goes  to  bed ;  but  before 
he  drops  to  sleep  he  once  more  raises  him- 
self up,  gropes  with  a  trembling  hand  for  the 
vase,  and  buries  his  face  in  the  flowers. 

How  like  it  all  is  to  that  first  evening,  and 
yet  how  different!  Then  he  was  peaceful 
and  happy ;  now  .  .  . 

A  suddenly  awakened  memory  makes  him 
start ;  his  fingers  clutch  the  handle  of  the  vase 
more  tightly — he  listens  and  listens — he  feels 
as  if  that  merry  laugh  which  then  so  softly 
sounded  through  the  floor,  must  at  this  mo- 
ment again  greet  his  ears — he  listens  with  in- 
creasing fear  till  his  whole  brain  is  humming 
and  buzzing — an  ugly  feeling  of  hatred  and 
jealousy  suddenly  uprises  within  him;  and, 
bursting  into  a  wild  laugh,  he  hurls  the  vase 
far  away  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  where 
it  shatters  with  a  crash. 

Next  morning  Johannes  is  ashamed  of 


THE  SILENT  MILL          105 

himself.  It  all  seems  as  if  it  had  been  a  bad 
dream.  He  collects  the  fragments  of  the 
vase,  fits  them  together  and  resolves  to  get 
some  cement  from  the  chemist  and  mend  it. 
Much  as  he  considers  the  matter,  he  cannot 
explain  the  feeling  which  prompted  him  to 
this  act  of  apparent  school-boy  folly ;  he  only 
knows  that  it  was  something  wicked  and 
loathsome. 

He  presses  his  brother's  hand  more  heart- 
ily than  at  other  times  and  gazes  silently  into 
his  eyes  as  if  to  plead  forgiveness  for  some 
grave  crime. 

Trude  looks  pale  and  as  if  she  had  not 
slept.  Her  eyes  avoid  his,  and  the  cup  of 
coffee  which  she  hands  him  rattles  in  her 
trembling  hand. 

As  he  can  find  no  better  subject,  he  begins 
to  talk  about  the  dancing  shoes,  wishing  at 
the  same  time  to  sound  Martin.  He  is  quite 
agreeable.  Trude  is  to  have  her  measure 
taken  at  once  and  when  she  objects  to  taking 


106          THE  SILENT  MILL 

off  her  shoes  in  Johannes'  presence,  he  an- 
grily calls  her  an  "affected  little  prude." 
She  is  offended,  begins  to  cry  and  leaves  the 
room.  Then  towards  evening  she  bashfully 
appears  with  her  measure  and  Johannes 
sends  off  his  letter.  The  broken  vase  still 
weighs  heavily  on  his  conscience.  When  he 
is  alone  with  her  he  confesses. 

"I  say,  I've  done  a  clumsy  thing." 

"What?" 

"I  have  smashed  a  vase." 

"Indeed!  was  that  simply  clumsiness?" 

"What  else  should  it  be?" 

"I  thought  you  had  done  it  on  purpose," 
she  says,  with  apparent  utter  indifference. 
He  gives  no  answer,  and  she  quietly  nods  a 
few  times  to  herself  as  much  as  to  say,  "It 
seems  I  was  right  after  all!" 

The  days  pass  by.  Relations  between  Jo- 
hannes and  Trude  are  cooler  than  they  were. 
They  do  not  avoid  each  other,  they  even  talk 


THE  SILENT  MILL          107 

together,  but  their  former  happy-go-lucky 
mode  of  intercourse  is  irretrievably  lost. 

"She  is  offended  because  I  kissed  her," 
thinks  Johannes,  but  it  does  not  strike  him 
that  he  too  has  changed  his  behavior  towards 
her. 

"Children,  what's  up  with  you?"  says 
Martin  one  evening  grumblingly.  "Have 
your  throats  grown  rusty,  as  you  never  sing 
now?" 

For  a  few  seconds  both  are  silent,  then 
Trude  says,  half  turning  towards  Johannes, 
"Will  you?"  He  nods;  but  as  she  has  not 
been  looking  at  him  she  thinks  she  has  had  no 
answer  and  says,  turning  towards  Martin, 
"You  see,  he  doesn't  want  to!" 

"Don't  I  though!"  laughs  Johannes. 

"Then  why  can't  you  say  so  at  once?"  she 
answers  with  a  timid  attempt  at  responding 
to  his  cheerful  tone. 

Then  she  puts  herself  in  position,  folds  her 
hands  in  her  lap  as  she  is  wont  to  do  when 


108          THE  SILENT  MILL 

singing,  and  fixes  her  eyes  on  the  pigeon- 
house  yonder. 

"What  shall  we  sing?"  she  asks. 

"Must  we  part,  beloved  maid?" — he  sug- 
gests. 

She  shakes  her  head.  "Nothing  about 
love,"  she  says  rather  pointedly,  "that's  all 
so  stupid." 

He  looks  at  her  astonished  and  after  some 
deliberation  she  starts  a  hunting  song.  He 
joins  in  lustily  and  their  voices  blend  and 
unite  like  two  waves  in  the  ocean.  They 
themselves  marvel  at  such  harmony;  they 
have  never  sung  so  well.  But  they  soon 
come  to  an  end.  The  Germans  have  not 
many  folk-songs  which  are  not  at  the  same 
time  love  ditties.  And  finally  she  has  to  sub- 
mit. 

"Rose-bush  and  elder-tree, 
When  my  love  comes  to  me !" 

she  begins,  tacking  on  a  "Jodler."     He 


THE  SILENT  MILL          109 

smiles  and  looks  at  her,  she  blushes  and  turns 
away. — She  has  let  herself  be  caught  now. 

The  two  voices  grow  full  of  wonderful 
animation,  as  though  their  hearts'  pulsation 
were  throbbing  through  the  notes.  They 
swell  heavenwards  as  though  impelled  by 
waves  of  passion,  they  die  down  as  though 
the  bourne  of  life  were  stagnant  through  in- 
tensity of  hidden  woe. 

"No  words  can  e'er  express  my  love, 
In  silent  longing  I  adore. 
Question  my  eyes,  for  they  will  speak; 
I  love  thee  now  and  evermore !" 

Why  do  then*  eyes  suddenly  meet?  What 
occasion  is  there  for  them  both  to  tremble  as 
though  an  electric  current  were  passing 
through  their  bodies  ?  .  .  . 

"There  is  never  an  hour  in  my  sleeping 
When  my  thoughts  are  not  waking, 
Their  flight  to  thee  taking, 
To  thank  thee  for  placing  forever 
Thy  heart  in  my  keeping !" 


110          THE  SILENT  MILL 

What  intoxicating  passion  vibrates 
through  the  notes ! 

How  the  two  voices  seek  each  other  as  if  to 
embrace ! 

"O'er  the  mill-stream  bends  the  willow, 
In  the  valley  lies  the  snow, 
Sweetest  love,  'tis  time  we  parted, 
I  must  leave  thee,  broken-hearted. 
Parting,  love,  is  full  of  woe!" 

The  voices  die  away  in  tremulous  whis- 
pers. It  is  over — longing  and  hope,  the  pain 
of  parting  and  the  agony  of  death,  all  re- 
sounded in  these  treacherous,  swelling 
chords. 

Trude's  lips  twitch  as  with  suppressed 
weeping,  but  her  eyes  glitter,  and  suddenly, 
standing  bolt  upright,  she  begins  the  old,  sad 
miller-song  about  the  golden  house  that 
stands  "over  on  yonder  hill." 

Johannes  starts,  and  his  voice  falls  in 
tremulously.  They  sing  through  the  first 
verse  and  begin  the  second: 


THE  SILENT  MILL          111 

"Down  there  in  yonder  valley, 
The  mill-wheel  grinds  away, 
'Tis  love  that  it  is  grinding 
By  night  and  all  the  day. 
The  mill-wheel  now  is  broken — " 

Suddenly — a  scream — a  fall — Trude  has 
dropped  down  in  front  of  the  bench  and  is 
sobbing  convulsively  in  the  corner  with  her 
head  pressed  against  the  wood-work. 

Both  brothers  jump  up — Martin  takes  her 
head  between  both  his  hands,  and,  quite  up- 
set, he  stammers  disconnected,  confused 
words — but  she  only  sobs  more  violently. 
He  stamps  his  foot  on  the  ground  in  despair 
and,  turning  towards  Johannes,  who  is 
deathly  pale,  he  cries;  "What  ails  the 
child?" 

Then  Trude  flings  both  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  raises  herself  up  by  him  and  hides 
her  tear-stained  face  upon  his  breast,  as  if 
seeking  refuge.  He  strokes  her  dishevelled 
hair  caressingly  and  tries  to  calm  her ;  but  he 


112          THE  SILENT  MILL 

does  not  understand  the  art  of  comforting, 
poor  Martin;  each  one  of  his  half -mumbled 
words  sounds  like  suppressed  scoldings.  She 
lets  her  head  sink  back  towards  the  wall  of 
foliage,  her  lips  move,  and,  as  if  she  were 
continuing  the  song,  she  murmurs,  still  half 
choked  with  sobs : 

"The  mill-wheel — now — is  broken!" 

"No,  my  child,  it  is  not  broken,"  his  eyes 
filling  with  tears,  "it  will  not  be  broken — not 
ours — it  will  go  on  turning — as  long  as  we 
live."- 

She  shakes  her  head  passionately  and 
closes  her  eyes,  as  though  beholding  visions. 

"And  what  makes  such  things  enter  your 
head?"  he  continues.  "Has  not  everything 
turned  out  better  than  we  thought?  Isn't 
Johannes  with  us  too? — Don't  we  live  to- 
gether in  happiness  and  content? — and  work 
from  morn  till  night? — and — and — aren't 
your  people  comfortable  too?  And  don't  we 


THE  SILENT  MILL          113 

take  care  that  your  father  has  a  good  income 
-and"— 

He  groans  and  wipes  the  perspiration 
from  his  brow.  He  can  think  of  nothing 
more — and  now  appeals  to  Johannes,  who  is 
standing  with  his  face  turned  away  and  his 
head  resting  against  the  pillar  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  veranda. 

"Why  will  you  always  sing  such  sad 
songs?"  he  growls  at  him.  "I  myself  got  to 
feel  quite — I  don't  know  what — when  you 
began  with  them — and  she — she  is  only  a 
weak  woman." 

Trude  shakes  her  head  as  if  to  say,  "Don't 
scold!"  Then  she  raises  herself,  murmurs, 
without  looking  up,  a  soft  "Good-night," 
and  goes  into  the  house. 

Martin  follows  her. 

Johannes  buries  his  head  in  his  arms  and 
dreams  to  himself.  He  sees  her  again  as  she 
raises  herself  to  her  full  height  with  her  eyes 
all  a-gleam, — then  suddenly  sank  down  as  if 


114          THE  SILENT  MILL 

struck  by  lightning.  Then  he  reproaches 
himself  that  he  did  not  hasten  to  her  side 
sooner,  to  prevent  her  from  falling,  for  he 
was  nearest  to  her,  and  not  only  as  regards 
space ! 

Not  only  as  regards  space!  As  by  a  lurid 
flame — horrible,  bloody-red — his  brain  is 
suddenly  illumined!  Now  he  understands 
what  feelings  inspired  him  on  that  mid- 
summer night — why  he  flung  the  vase  to  the 
ground — he  makes  a  movement  as  if  he 
would  shatter  it  a  second  time! — It  is  only 
for  one  moment — a  moment  of  hellish  tor- 
ture— then  the  flame  is  suddenly  extin- 
guished, there  is  darkness  once  more — in- 
tense, pain-penetrated  darkness ! — He 
passes  his  hand  over  his  brow,  as  if  to  fire  the 
flame  anew,  but  all  remains  dark, — and  dark 
and  mysterious  remains  to  him  what  he  has 
just  experienced.  He  feels  as  though  he 
must  cry  out,  as  if  he  must  confide  to  the 
night  this  unintelligible  agony  in  which  he  is 


THE  SILENT  MILL          115 

wrestling.  He  drops  on  to  his  knees,  on  the 
very  same  spot  where  Trude  sank  down, 
rests  his  head  on  the  edge  of  the  bench  and 
moans  softly  to  himself. 

Suddenly  a  door  in  the  house  slams.  His 
brother's  steps  resound  in  the  entrance. 

He  jumps  up  and  sits  down  on  the  bench. 
Martin's  figure,  darkly  outlined,  appears  on 
the  veranda. 

"Brother,  brother!"  Johannes  calls  out  to 
him. 

"Are  you  there,  my  boy?"  the  latter  an- 
swers and  throws  himself  with  a  deep  sigh  on 
to  the  bench.  "Well,  things  are  nearly  all 
right  again  now — she  has  cried  herself  to 
sleep  and  now  she  is  lying  there  quite  calmly 
and  her  breath  too  comes  quietly  and  regu- 
larly. I  stood  for  a  while  at  her  bedside  and 
looked  at  her.  I  am  quite  at  a  loss!  Her 
child-like  mind  used  to  lie  before  me  as  clear 
as  a  mirror — and  now  all  at  once — what  can 
it  be?  However  much  I  think  about  it,  I 


116          THE  SILENT  MILL 

don't  seem  to  get  on  to  the  right  track.  Per- 
haps she  troubles  because  as  yet  there  is  no 
prospect  of — of — yes,  probably  that's  it. 
But  I  have  always  kept  my  longing  quite  to 
myself — didn't  want  to  hurt  her  feelings — 
for  of  course,  she  can't  alter  the  matter. 
And  really,  if  one  thinks  about  it,  she  is  but 
a  child  herself  and  much  too  young  to  fulfil 
maternal  duties.  Why,  one  must  have  pa- 
tience !"  Thus  he  tries  to  talk  away  his  soul's 
secret  sorrow.  Johannes  remains  silent.  His 
heart  is  so  full,  so  full.  He  wants  to  give  his 
brother  some  proof  of  his  affection  and 
knows  not  how?  He  too  has  his  own  pain 
which  he  wants  to  work  off,  and,  grasping 
Martin's  hand,  he  says  from  the  depths  of  his 
soul:  "Oh,  everything,  everything  will  come 
right  again!" 

"Of  course,  why  shouldn't  it?"  Martin 
stammers  in  consternation.  He  shakes  his 
head,  looks  down  thoughtfully  for  a  while, 
then  says,  with  an  uneasy  laugh:  "Go  to  bed, 


THE  SILENT  MILL          117 

Johannes. — That  broken  mill-wheel  is 
haunting  your  imagination." 

Next  day  Trude  is  lying  ill  in  bed.  She 
will  see  no  one — even  Martin  as  little  as  pos- 
sible. Johannes  slinks  about  unable  to  settle 
down  to  anything.  Their  meals  are  taken  in 
monotonous  silence.  The  shadows  close 
down  more  and  more  round  the  Rock- 
hammer  mill. 

But  the  sun  breaks  forth  once  more.  On 
the  fourth  day  Trude  is  half-way  convales- 
cent again,  and  Johannes  may  go  into  her 
room  for  a  talk  with  her. 

He  finds  her  sitting  at  the  window,  with  a 
white  dress  lying  across  her  lap.  She  is  pale 
and  weak  yet,  but  her  features  are  glorified 
by  an  expression  of  peaceful  melancholy 
such  as  convalescents  are  apt  to  wear. 

Smiling,  she  puts  out  her  hand  to  Jo- 
hannes. 

"How  are  you  now?"  he  asks  softly. 

"Well — as  you  see,"  she  replies,  pointing 


118         THE  SILENT  MILL 

to  the  white  dress;  "my  thoughts  are  already 
occupied  with  the  ball." 

"What  ball?"  he  asks,  astonished. 

"What  a  bad  memory  you  have!"  she  says 
with  an  attempt  at  a  joke.  "Why,  next 
Sunday  is  the  rifle-fete." 

"Yes,  so  it  is." 

"Perhaps  you're  not  even  looking  forward 
to  dancing  with  me?" 

"Indeed  I  am!" 

"Very  much  ? — Tell  me !    Very  much  ?" 

"Very  much!" 

A  child-like  smile  of  pleasure  flits  across 
her  pale,  delicate  face;  she  fingers  the  laces 
and  frills,  with  undisguised  delight  at  the 
white,  airy  texture. 

This  physical  exhaustion  seems  to  have 
restored  to  her  mind  its  former,  child-like 
harmlessness,  and  with  a  certain  degree  of 
anxiety  she  begins  to  enquire  about  her  danc- 
ing shoes.  She  is  once  more,  to  all  appear- 
ance, just  the  same  girlishly  thoughtless 


THE  SILENT  MILL          119 

creature  who  once  put  out  her  hand  with  such 
unconstrained  simple-heartedness  to  bid  Jo- 
hannes welcome. 

He  sits  down  opposite  to  her,  lets  the  tex- 
ture of  the  ball-dress  glide  through  his  fin- 
gers, and  listens  to  her  prattling  with  a  quiet 
smile. 

And  everything  she  tells  him  is  replete 
with  sunshine  and  the  very  joy  of  existence. 
This  had  been  her  wedding  dress  which  she 
had  made  and  trimmed  herself,  for  she  could 
do  that  as  well  as  anybody.  She  would  have 
liked  to  wear  silk,  as  befitted  the  bride  of  the 
rich  miller  Rockhammer,  but  she  could  not 
scrape  together  sufficient  money,  and  as  for 
letting  her  intended  give  her  her  wedding 
dress — well,  her  pride  would  not  permit  that. 
To-day  she  felt  almost  sorry  to  undo  the 
seams,  for  how  many  foolish  hopes  and 
dreams  were  not  sewn  into  them? — But  what 
else  could  she  do? — she  had  got  so  much 
stouter  since  she  was  a  married  woman. 


120         THE  SILENT  MILL 

Then  the  conversation  flies  off  at  a  tangent 
to  the  approaching  rifle-fete,  touches  on  her 
new  acquaintances  in  the  village  and  occa- 
sionally wanders  off  to  the  shoemaker's  place 
in  the  town;  but  ever  and  again  she  comes 
back  to  the  time  of  her  engagement  and 
tarries  over  the  moods  and  events  of  those 
blissful  days. 

She  seems  to  feel  just  like  a  young  girl 
again.  The  smile  that  plays  so  dreamily  and 
full  of  presage  about  her  lips,  is  like  the 
smile  of  a  bride — as  if  the  fete  to  which  she 
is  looking  forward  were  her  wedding. 

All  her  thoughts  henceforth  tend  towards 
the  ball.  While  she  is  entirely  recovering, 
while  her  eyes  grow  clear,  and  the  color  re- 
turns to  her  cheeks,  she  is  meditating  by  day 
and  by  night  how  she  shall  adorn  herself ;  she 
is  dreaming  of  the  bliss  which  in  those  looked- 
for  hours  is  to  dawn  upon  her,  as  though  it 
were  something  totally  new  and  beyond  all 
comprehension. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          121 

Trumpets  sound;  clarionets  shriek;  the 
big  drum  joins  in  with  its  dull,  droning 
thud. 

Midst  clinking  and  clanking,  midst  skip- 
ping and  tripping,  the  guild  march  along  the 
street  in  solemn  procession.  On  in  front 
ride  two  heralds  on  horseback — Franz  Maas 
and  Johannes  Rockhammer,  the  two  Uhlans 
of  the  Guard.  Nothing  would  induce  them 
to  give  up  their  privilege — even  did  it  mean 
rack  and  ruin  to  the  guild. 

Franz's  countenance  is  beaming,  but  Jo- 
hannes looks  serious — indifferent  almost; 
what  does  he  care  about  all  these  people  from 
whom  he  has  become  estranged?  He  sa- 
lutes no  one,  his  gaze  rests  on  none;  but  he 
is  searching,  he  is  mustering  the  lines  of  peo- 
ple,— and  now,  suddenly — his  features  glow 
with  pride  and  happiness — he  bows,  he  low- 
ers his  sword  in  salute: — over  there  at  the 
street  corner,  with  rosy-red  cheeks, 'with 
beaming  eyes,  waving  her  handkerchief, 


122          THE  SILENT  MILL 

stands  she  whom  he  seeks — his  brother's 
wife. 

She  is  laughing — she  is  beckoning — she 
pulls  herself  up  by  the  railing,  she  jumps  on 
to  the  curb-stone — she  wants  to  watch  him 
till  he  disappears  in  the  whirling  clouds  of 
dust.  With  all  this  she  nearly,  very  nearly, 
forgets  Martin,  who  is  walking  along  close 
to  the  banner.  But  then,  why  does  he  go 
marching  on  so  quietly  and  stiffly,  why  does 
he  stick  his  head  so  far  into  his  collar  ? — Over 
there  in  the  distance  Johannes  is  beckoning 
just  once  more  with  his  sword. 

The  rifle-range,  the  goal  of  the  procession, 
is  situated  close  to  the  fir-copse — which, 
seen  from  the  weir,  frames  the  meadow  land- 
scape,— and  hardly  a  thousand  paces  straight 
across  from  the  Rockhammer  mill,  which 
seems  to  beckon  from  over  the  alder  bushes 
by  the  river.  If  those  stupid  rifle  people  did 
not  make  such  a  deafening  noise  one  might 
easily  hear  the  rushing  of  the  waters.  .  .  . 


THE  SILENT  MILL          123 

"If  only  this  hocus-pocus  were  already 
over,"  observed  Johannes,  and  casts  a  long- 
ing look  towards  the  "ball-room,"  a  huge 
square  tent-erection,  whose  canvas  roof  rises 
high  above  the  mass  of  smaller  stalls  and 
tents  grouped  around.  Not  till  afternoon, 
when  the  "King"  has  been  solemnly  pro- 
claimed, may  the  members'  friends  enter  the 
festival  ground.  The  hours  pass  by;  shots 
resound  at  intervals  along  the  boundary  of 
the  wood.  At  noon  comes  Johannes'  turn. 
He  shoots — at  random — in  spite  of  the  flow- 
ers which  Trude  stuck  into  his  gun.  "Flow- 
ers for  luck,"  she  had  said,  and  Martin  had 
stood  by  and  smiled,  as  one  smiles  at  childish 
play.  .  .  .  As  soon  as  his  duties  as  a  rifle- 
man are  fulfilled,  he  turns  his  back  on  the 
ranges  and  betakes  himself  into  the  wood, 
where  nothing  is  to  be  heard  of  all  the  shout- 
ing and  chattering  and  there  is  no  sound  but 
the  echo  of  the  shooting  softly  dying  away 
into  the  air.  He  throws  himself  down 


124          THE  SILENT  MILL 

upon  the  mossy  ground  and  stares  up  at  the 
branches  of  the  fir-trees,  whose  slender 
needles  glisten  and  gleam  in  the  rays  of  the 
midday  sun,  like  brightly  polished  little 
knives.  Then  he  closes  his  eyes  and  dreams. 
How  strange  the  whole  world  has  become  to 
him!  And  how  far  removed  everything 
seems  which  he  ever  lived  through  before! 
Not  indeed  that  he  has  lived  through  much 
— women  and  care  have  played  no  great  part 
in  his  life  hitherto ;  and  yet  how  rich,  how  full 
of  glowing  color  it  has  always  appeared  to 
him !  Now  an  abyss  has  swallowed  up  every- 
thing, and  over  the  abyss  rose-colored  mists 
are  undulating.  .  .  . 

Two  hours  may  have  elapsed,  when  he 
hears  distant  trumpet  blasts  proclaim  the 
election  of  a  new  king.  He  jumps  up. 
Only  half  an  hour  more ;  then  Trude  will  be 
coming. 

At  the  shooting-stand  he  learns  that  the 
dignity  of  "king"  has  been  allotted  to  his 


' 


THE  SILENT  MILL          125 

friend  Franz  Maas.  He  hears  it  as  if  in  a 
dream;  what  does  it  concern  him?  His  gaze 
wanders  incessantly  towards  the  highroad, 
where,  through  the  dust  and  the  glaring  sun, 
crowds  of  gaily  dressed  female  figures  are 
approaching  on  foot  and  in  carriages. 

"Are  you  looking  out  for  Trude?"  asks 
Martin's  voice  suddenly,  close  behind  him. 

He  looks  up  startled  from  his  brooding. 
"Good  gracious,  boy,  what's  up  with  you?" 
asks  Martin  laughingly.  "Have  you  taken 
your  bad  shot  so  much  to  heart,  or  are  you 
sleeping  in  broad  daylight?" 

Martin  has  one  of  his  good  days  to-day. 
Meeting  all  these  people — he  is  one  of  the 
chief  dignitaries  of  the  guild — has  roused 
him  from  his  usual  moodiness, — his  eyes 
glisten  and  a  jovial  smile  plays  about  his 
broad  mouth.  If  only  he  did  not  look  so 
awkward  in  his  Sunday  clothes !  His  hat  sits 
right  on  his  forehead,  leaving  full  play  to  a 
bunch  of  bristly  hair  sticking  up  curiously 


126          THE  SILENT  MILL 

over  the  brim,  and  below  that  there  appear 
the  white  tapes  of  his  shirt-front,  which  have 
worked  out  from  under  his  coat  collar. 

"There  she  comes,  there  she  comes,"  he 
suddenly  shouts,  waving  his  hat. 

The  flashing  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
splendid  Lithuanian  bays,  is  the  Rock- 
hammer  state  coach,  which  Martin  had  had 
built  for  his  wedding.  Sitting  within  it — 
that  white  figure  reclining  with  such  proud 
dignity  in  one  corner,  and  looking  about  with 
such  distant  seriousness — that  is  she,  "the 
rich  mistress  of  Rockhammer,"  as  the  people 
all  round  are  whispering  to  each  other. 

"Look — Trude  is  giving  herself  airs,"  says 
Martin  softly,  pulling  Johannes'  sleeve. 

At  the  same  moment  she  discovers  the 
brothers,  and,  throwing  her  affected  bear- 
ing to  the  winds,  she  jumps  up  in  the  car- 
riage, waves  her  sunshade  in  one  hand,  her 
kerchief  in  the  other,  and  laughs  and  gives 
vent  to  her  delight  and  prods  the  coachman 


THE  SILENT  MILL          127 

with  the  point  of  her  parasol  to  make  him 
drive  faster.  Then,  when  the  carriage  stops, 
she  gives  herself  no  time  to  wait  till  the  door 
is  opened,  but  jumps  onto  the  splash-board 
and  from  there  straight  into  Martin's  arms. 
She  is  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement;  her 
breath  comes  hot ;  her  lips  move  to  speak,  but 
her  voice  fails  her. 

"Quietly,  child,  quietly,"  says  Martin,  and 
strokes  her  hair,  which  to-day  falls  upon  her 
bare  neck  in  a  mass  of  little  ringlets.  Jo- 
hannes stands  motionless,  lost  in  contempla- 
tion of  her. 

How  lovely  she  is! 

The  white,  gauzy  dress  floats  round  her 
exquisite  figure  like  an  airy  veil!  And  that 
white  neck ! — and  those  little  dimples  at  her 
bosom! — and  those  glorious  plump  arms  on 
which  there  trembles  a  light,  silvery  fluff! — 
and  this  plastic  bust,  which  rises  and  falls 
like  a  marble  wave !  .  .  .  She  appears  un- 
approachably beautiful,  every  inch  a  woman 


128          THE  SILENT  MILL 

yet  every  inch  majesty,  for  in  his  innocent 
mind  the  ideas  "woman"  and  "majesty"  are 
synonymous,  and  mean  for  him  an  indefin- 
able something  which  fills  him  with  bliss  and 
with  fear.  His  eyes  are  suddenly  opened 
and  are  dazzled  as  yet  with  gazing  at  this 
regal  type  of  female  loveliness,  beside  which 
he  has  hitherto  walked  as  one  blind.  How 
lovely  she  is!  How  lovely  is  woman!  And 
now  a  torrent  of  confused  words  streams 
from  her  unfettered  lips.  She  had  nearly 
died  of  impatience. — And  that  stupid  big 
clock, — and  her  lonely  dinner, — and  those 
silly  dancing  shoes  which  would  not  fit! 
They  are  too  tight ;  they  pinch  frightfully — 
"but  they  look  lovely,  don't  they?" 

And  she  lifts  up  the  hem  of  her  skirt  a 
little  to  show  the  works  of  art,  light  blue, 
high-heeled  little  shoes,  tied  across  the  in- 
step with  blue  silk  bows. 

"They  seem  too  short!"  Martin  remarks, 
with  a  doubtful  shake  of  his  head. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          129 

"That's  just  what  they  are"  she  laughs, 
"my  toes  burn  as  if  they  were  on  fire !  But  I 
shall  dance  all  the  better  for  it — what  do  you 
say,  Johannes?"  And  she  closes  her  eyes 
for  a  moment  as  though  to  recall  vanished 
dreams.  Then  she  hooks  her  arm  in  Mar- 
tin's, and  asks  to  be  taken  to  her  tent.  The 
most  notable  families  of  the  district  have 
provided  themselves  with  private  dwellings 
— light  huts  or  canvas  tents  which  afford 
them  night  shelter,  for  the  fete  commonly 
drags  on  till  early  day.  Trude  had  been  her- 
self the  day  before  on  the  festival  ground  to 
superintend  the  erection  of  her  tent ;  she  had 
also  had  furniture  brought  in  and  wreathed 
the  entrance  gaily  with  leafy  garlands.  She 
may  well  be  proud  of  her  handiwork,  for  the 
Rockhammer  tent  is  the  finest  of  the  whole 
collection. 

While  Martin  seeks  to  wedge  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  she  turns  to  Johannes 
and  says  quickly  and  softly: 


130          THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Are  you  satisfied,  Hans?  Am  I  to  your 
liking?" 

He  nods. 

"Very  much.    Tell  me — very  much?" 

"Very  much." 

She  draws  a  deep  breath,  then  laughs  to 
herself  in  silent  satisfaction. 

The  miller's  lovely  wife  makes  a  sensation 
among  the  crowd.  The  strange  farmers  and 
land-proprietors  stand  and  stare  at  her — the 
burghers'  wives  secretly  nudge  each  other 
with  their  elbows;  the  young  fellows  from 
the  village  awkwardly  pull  off  their  hats;  a 
whispering  and  murmuring  passes  through 
the  throng  wherever  she  appears.  With  seri- 
ous mien  and  affecting  a  certain  dignity,  she 
walks  along,  leaning  on  Martin's  arm,  from 
time  to  time  shaking  back  the  curls  which 
wave  over  her  shoulders, — and  when,  in  so 
doing,  she  throws  back  her  head,  she  looks 
like  a  queen,  or  rather  like  a  spirited  child 
which  is  playing  the  part  of  a  queen  in  a 


THE  SILENT  MILL          181 

fairy  tale,  and  hardly  feels  comfortable  in 
the  role. 

When  an  hour  later  the  first  notes  of  the 
fiddles  are  heard,  she  calls  out  with  a  cry  of 
delight!  "Hans,  now  I  belong  to  you." 

Martin  warns  her  to  beware  of  cold  and 
other  evils,  but  in  the  midst  of  his  speeches 
they  are  off  and  away.  Then  he  resigns  him- 
self, pours  himself  out  a  good  glass  of  Hun- 
garian wine,  and  stretches  himself  on  the 
sofa  to  take  some  rest. 

All  sorts  of  pleasant  thoughts  flit  through 
his  head.  Hasn't  everything  arranged  itself 
happily  and  satisfactorily  since  Johannes 
came  to  live  at  the  mill?  Have  not  even  his 
own  bad  hours  of  tragic  presentiment  and 
haunting  terror  become  less  and  less  fre- 
quent? Is  he  not  visibly  reviving,  infected 
by  the  harmless  merriment  of  those  two  ?  Is 
not  this  very  day  the  best  proof  that  his  an- 
tipathy to  strange  people  has  disappeared, 
that  he  has  learnt  to  be  merry  when  others 


132          THE  SILENT  MILL 

are  merry-making? — And  Trude — how 
happy  she  is  at  his  side! — That  evening  cer- 
tainly!— Well,  what  of  that!  Women  are 
frail  creatures,  subject  to  a  thousand  varying 
moods !  And  how  quickly  things  have  come 
right  again!  The  words  which  Johannes 
spoke  to  him  that  night,  come  back  to  him; 
he  clinks  his  full  glass  against  the  two  empty 
ones  which  the  youngsters  have  left  behind 
them:  "Good  luck  to  you  both!  May  our 
happy  triple  alliance  continue  to  our  lives' 
end!" — Meanwhile  Trude  and  Johannes 
have  squeezed  themselves  through  the  closely 
packed  crowd,  as  far  as  the  entrance  to  the 
dancing-room.  Sounding  waves  of  music 
swell  towards  them ;  like  a  hot  human  breath 
the  air  from  within  is  wafted  in  their  direc- 
tion. In  the  semi-obscurity  of  the  tent  the 
couples  are  whirling  along  in  one  dense 
crowd,  and  flit  past  them  like  shadowy 
forms. 

Johannes  walks  as  one  a-dreaming.    He 


THE  SILENT  MILL          133 

hardly  dares  to  let  his  gaze  rest  upon  Trude ; 
for  even  yet  that  mysterious  awe  has  com- 
plete possession  of  him  and  seems  to  bind  him 
round  with  iron  fetters. 

"You  are  so  quiet  to-day,  Hans,"  she 
whispers,  nestling  with  her  face  against  his 
sleeve.  He  is  silent. 

"Have  I  done  anything  to  displease  you?" 

"Nothing — no  indeed!"  he  stammers. 

"Then  come,  let  us  dance!" 

At  the  moment  when  he  lays  his  hand 
upon  her  she  gives  a  start ;  then  with  a  deep 
sigh  she  lets  herself  sink  into  his  arms.  And 
now  they  are  whirling  along.  She  leans  her 
face  with  a  deep-drawn  breath  upon  his 
breast.  Just  in  front  of  her  left  eye  there 
flutters  the  rosette  which  he  wears  to-day  as 
a  member  of  the  rifle-guild;  the  white  silk 
ribbon  trembles  close  to  her  eyelashes.  She 
moves  her  head  a  little  to  one  side  and  looks 
up  at  him. 

"Do  you  know  how  I  feel?"  she  murmurs. 


134          THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Well?" 

"As  if  you  were  carrying  me  through  the 
clouds." 

And  then,  when  they  have  to  stop,  she 
says:  "Come  out  quickly,  so  that  I  need  not 
dance  with  anyone  else!" 

She  clutches  hold  of  his  hand,  while  he 
makes  a  passage  for  her  through  the  crowd 
of  people.  Outside,  she  takes  his  arm,  and 
walks  at  his  side  proudly  and  happily  -with 
glowing  cheeks  and  dancing  eyes.  She 
laughs,  she  chatters,  she  jests,  and  he  keeps 
pace  with  her  to  the  best  of  his  ability. — In 
the  heat  of  the  dance  his  bashfulness  has  en- 
tirely melted  away.  A  wild  gladness  fires 
his  veins.  To-day  she  is  his  with  every 
thought  and  feeling,  his  only,  as  he  can  feel 
by  the  trembling  of  her  arm,  which  rests 
upon  his  more  firmly  with  secret,  sweet  pres- 
sure; he  can  see  it  in  the  most  gleaming 
glamour  of  her  eyes  as  she  raises  them  to  his. 

After  a  time  she  asks,  somewhat  reluc- 


THE  SILENT  MILL          135 

tantly:  "I  say,  mustn't  we  have  a  look  what 
Martin  is  doing?" 

"Yes,  you  are  right,"  he  replies  eagerly. 
But  nothing  comes  of  this  good  resolution. 
Every  time  they  happen  to  pass  the  tent 
something  remarkable  is  sure  to  be  taking 
place  in  the  opposite  direction,  which  gives 
them  an  opportunity  of  forgetting  their  in- 
tention. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden,  Martin  himself 
comes  towards  them,  beaming  with  pleasure 
and  surrounded  by  a  number  of  village  in- 
habitants whom  he  is  taking  along  with  him 
to  stand  them  treat.  "Hallo,  children  1"  he 
says,  "I  am  just  going  to  remove  my  general 
headquarters  to  the  'Crown'  Innkeeper's 
booth ;  if  you  want  a  drink,  come  along  with 
me." 

Trude  and  Johannes  exchange  a  rapid 
glance  of  understanding  and  simultaneously 
beg  to  be  excused. 

"Good-bye  then,  children,  and  enjoy  your- 


136         THE  SILENT  MILL 

selves    thoroughly!"      With    that   he   goes 
off. 

"I  have  never  seen  him  in  such  good  spir- 
its," remarks  Trude,  laughing.  "Indeed,  no 
one  could  grudge  them  to  him,"  says  Jo- 
hannes in  a  gentle  voice,  looking  affection- 
ately after  his  brother.  He  wants  to  kill  the 
gnawing  which  has  awakened  within  him  at 
sight  of  Martin. 

Evening  has  come  on.  The  festive  crowd 
is  bathed  in  purple  light.  The  wood  and  the 
meadow  are  ruddy  red. 

In  a  lonely  nook  at  the  meadow's  edge, 
Trude  stops  and  looks  with  dazzled  gaze 
towards  the  faintly  glowing  sun. 

"Ah,  if  only  it  would  not  set  for  us  to- 
day !"  she  cries,  stretching  forth  her  arms. 

"Well,  command  it  not  to!"  says  Jo- 
hannes. 

"Sun,  I  command  thee  to  stay  with  us!" 

And  as  the  red  ball  sinks  lower  and  lower, 


THE  SILENT  MILL          137 

she  suddenly  shivers  and  says;  "Do  you 
know  what  idea  just  came  into  my  head? 
That  we  should  never  see  it  rise  again!" 
Then  she  laughs  aloud.  "I  know  it  is  all 
nonsense!  Come  and  dance." 

And  they  return  to  the  dancing-tent.  A 
new  dance  has  just  commenced.  Fired  by 
longing,  entranced  by  contemplation  of  each 
other,  they  whirl  along  and  disappear  in  a 
dark  little  corner  near  the  musicians'  plat- 
form, which  they  have  chosen  in  order  to 
avoid  the  searching  gaze  of  the  other  dancers, 
who  are  all  dying  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  the  miller's  lovely  wife. 

Trude's  hair  has  loosed  itself  and  is  flut- 
tering about  unbound;  in  her  eyes  is  a  faint 
glow,  as  of  intoxication:  her  whole  being 
seems  pervaded  by  the  ecstasy  of  the  mo- 
ment. 

"If  only  my  foot  did  not  burn  like  very 
hell-fire,"  she  says  once  as  Johannes  takes 
her  back  to  her  place. 


138         THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Then  rest  awhile." 

She  laughs  aloud,  and  when  at  the  same 
moment  Franz  Maas  comes  to  claim  the 
dance  of  honor  in  his  capacity  of  "rifle-king," 
she  throws  herself  into  his  arms  and  whirls 
away. 

Johannes  puts  his  hand  to  his  burning 
brow,  and  looks  after  the  couple,  but  the 
lights  and  the  figures  melt  away  before  his 
eyes  into  one  heaving  chaos:  everything 
seems  to  be  turning  round  and  round — he 
staggers — he  has  to  clutch  hold  of  a  pillar  to 
prevent  himself  from  falling;  and  when  at 
that  moment  Franz  Maas  returns  with 
Trude,  he  begs  him  to  take  charge  of  his 
sister-in-law  for  half  an  hour;  he  must  go 
out  for  a  whiff  of  fresh  air. 

He  steps  out  of  the  hot,  close  tent,  in 
which  two  candelabra  filled  with  tallow  can- 
dles diffuse  an  unbearable  smoke — out  into 
the  clear,  cool  night.  But  here  too  are  noise 
and  fiddling!  In  the  shooting  booths  the 


THE  SILENT  MILL          139 

bolts  of  the  air-guns  are  rattling,  from  the 
gaming  tables  comes  the  hoarse  screaming  of 
their  owners,  trying  to  allure  people,  and  the 
merry-go-round  spins  along  in  the  darkness, 
laden  with  all  its  glittering  tawdriness  and 
accompanied  by  shouting  and  clanging. 

In  between  everything  sways  the  black, 
surging  crowd. 

Behind  the  crests  of  the  pine  wood,  which 
silently  and  gloomily  towers  above  all  the 
tumult,  the  sky  is  all  aflame  with  glorious 
yellow  light.  Half  an  hour  more  and  the 
moon  will  be  pouring  its  smiling  beams  over 
the  scene.  Johannes  walks  along  slowly  be- 
tween the  tents. — In  front  of  the  "Crown" 
host's  booth  he  stops  and  looks  in  through 
the  window.  But  when  he  sees  Martin  sit- 
ting with  a  deeply  flushed  face  amidst  a 
swarm  of  rollicking  carousers,  he  creeps  back 
into  the  darkness,  as  if  he  were  afraid  to  meet 
him. 

From  the  adjacent  tent  comes  the  sound 


140         THE  SILENT  MILL 

of  noisy  singing.  He  hesitates  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  enters,  for  his  tongue  cleaves  to 
the  roof  of  his  mouth.  He  is  received  with  a 
loud  shout  of  delight.  At  a  long  beer-bedab- 
bled table  sits  a  host  of  his  former  school- 
fellows, rowdy  fellows,  some  of  them,  whom 
as  a  rule  he  seeks  to  avoid.  They  surround 
him;  they  drink  to  him;  they  press  him  to 
join  their  circle.  "Why  do  you  make  your- 
self so  scarce,  Johannes?"  one  of  them 
screams  from  the  opposite  end  of  the  table, 
"and  where  do  you  stick  of  an  evening?" 

"He  dangles  at  the  apron-strings  of  his 
lovely  sister-in-law,"  sneers  another.  "Leave 
my  sister-in-law  out  of  the  game,"  cries  Jo- 
hannes with  knitted  brows.  These  proceed- 
ings sicken  him;  this  hoarse  screaming  of- 
fends his  ear;  these  coarse  jests  hurt  him. 
He  pours  down  a  few  glasses  of  cool  beer  and 
goes  outside,  with  great  difficulty  succeeding 
in  shaking  off  the  importunate  fellows. 

He  saunters  toward  the  boundary  of  the 


THE  SILENT  MILL          141 

wood  and  stares  into  its  obscurity,  already 
beginning  to  be  animated  by  pale  lunar  re- 
flections ;  then  he  proceeds  for  some  distance 
beneath  the  trees,  deeply  inhaling  the  soft, 
aromatic  fragrance  of  the  pines.  He  is  de- 
termined that  by  main  force  he  will  master 
this  mysterious  intoxication  which  seems  to 
fever  his  whole  being ;  but  the  further  he  be- 
takes himself  away  from  the  festival  ground 
the  more  does  his  unrest  increase.  Just  as  he 
is  about  to  enter  the  dancing-room  he  sees 
Franz  Maas  hurrying  towards  him  in  breath- 
less excitement.  A  vague  presentiment  of 
disaster  dawns  within  him. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  calls  out  to  him. 

"It's  a  good  thing  I've  found  you.  Your 
sister-in-law  has  been  taken  ill." 

"For  heaven's  sake!  Where  have  you 
taken  her?" 

"Martin  led  her  to  your  tent." 

"How  did  it  happen?  How  did  it  hap- 
pen?" 


142          THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Some  time  before,  I  noticed  that  she  had 
become  pale  and  quiet,  and  when  I  asked 
her  what  was  the  matter,  she  said  her  foot 
hurt  her.  But  in  spite  of  that  she  would  not 
sit  still,  and,  while  I  was  dancing  with  her, 
she  suddenly  broke  down  in  the  middle  of 
the  room." 

"And  then?   What  then?" 

"I  raised  her  up  and  drew  her  as  quickly 
as  possible  to  her  chair,  while  I  sent  some  one 
off  to  fetch  Martin." 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  me,  man?" 

"Firstly  I  didn't  know  where  you  were, 
and  then,  of  course,  it  was  the  proper  thing 
to  send  word  first  to  her  husband." 

Johannes  breaks  into  a  shrill  laugh. 
"Very  proper,  but  what  then?" 

"She  opened  her  eyes  even  before  Martin 
arrived.  The  first  thing  she  did  was  to  send 
away  the  women  who  were  crowding  round 
her!  then  she  whispered  to  me,  'Don't  tell 
him  that  I  fainted ;'  and  then  when  he  came 


THE  SILENT  MILL          143 

hurrying  in,  looking  quite  pale,  she  went  to 
meet  him  apparently  quite  cheerfully  and 
said,  'My  shoe  hurts  me ;  it  is  nothing  else.' ' 

"And  then?" 

"Then  he  took  her  outside.  But  I  just 
happened  to  see  how  she  burst  out  sobbing 
and  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder.  Then  I 
thought  to  myself,  'God  knows  what  else 
may  be  hurting  her.' '  Johannes  hears  no 
further.  Without  a  word  of  thanks  to  his 
friend  he  rushes  off. 

The  canvas  which  covers  the  entrance  to 
the  Rockhammer  tent  is  let  down  low.  Jo- 
hannes listens  for  a  moment.  Soft  weeping 
mingled  with  Martin's  soothing  voice  is 
audible  from  the  interior,  he  tries  to  tear  the 
curtain  open,  but  it  does  not  give  way;  it  is 
evidently  fastened  down  with  a  peg.  "Who 
is  there?"  calls  Martin's  voice  from  the  other 
side. 

"I— Johannes!" 

"Stay  outside." 


144          THE  SILENT  MILL 

Johannes  winces.  This  "stay  outside"  has 
given  him  a  very  stab  at  his  heart.  When 
there  is  a  chance  of  being  at  her  side  to  help 
her  in  her  trouble, — of  giving  her  peace  and 
comfort,  he  is  to  "stay  outside."  He  grates 
his  teeth  and  stares  with  hungry  eyes  at  the 
curtain,  through  the  apertures  of  which  a 
faint  red  gleam  pierces. 

"Johannes!"  Martin's  voice  is  heard  anew. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Go  and  see  if  our  carriage  is  here." 

He  does  as  he  is  bid.  He  is  just  good 
enough  to  go  errands !  He  inspects  the  rows 
of  conveyances,  and,  when  he  does  not  find 
what  he  is  seeking,  he  returns  to  the  tent. 

Now  the  curtain  is  drawn  aside.  There 
she  stands — a  little  transparent  shawl  about 
her  shoulders,  looking  pale  and  so  beau- 
tiful. 

"Just  as  I  expected,"  says  Martin,  when 
he  reports  to  him — "the  carriage  wasn't  or- 
dered till  daybreak." 


THE  SILENT  MILL          145 

"But  what  now?  Does  Trude  want  to 
go?"  he  asks  anxiously. 

"Trude  must!"  says  she,  giving  him  a  look 
out  of  her  tear-stained  eyes,  which  are  al- 
ready trying  to  smile  again. 

"Resign  yourself  to  it,  my  child,"  answers 
Martin,  stroking  her  hair.  "If  it  were  only 
the  foot,  it  would  not  matter.  But  your  cry- 
ing just  now — all  this  excitement — I  think 
your  illness  is  still  hanging  about  you  and 
rest  will  do  you  good.  If  only  it  did  not  take 
so  long  to  fetch  the  carriage!  I  believe  it 
would  be  best  if  you  could  walk  the  short 
distance  across  the  fields — of  course,  only 
if  you  have  no  more  pain.  Can  you  man- 
age it?" 

Trude  gives  Johannes  a  look;  then  nods 
eagerly. 

"The  air  is  warm,  the  grass  is  dry,"  Mar- 
tin continues,  "and  Johannes  can  accompany 
you." 

Trude  gives  a  start,  and  he  feels  his  blood 


146         THE  SILENT  MILL 

mount  in  a  hot  wave  to  his  head.  His  eyes 
seek  hers,  but  she  avoids  his  glance. 

"You  can  easily  be  here  again  in  half  an 
hour,  my  dear  boy,"  says  Martin,  who  takes 
Johannes'  silence  to  mean  vexation.  He 
shakes  his  head,  and  declares,  with  a  look  at 
Trude,  that  he  too  has  had  enough  of  it  now. 

"Well  then,  good  speed  to  you,  children," 
says  Martin,  "and,  when  I  have  disbanded 
my  party,  I  will  follow!" 

Johannes  sends  a  look  into  the  distance; 
the  plain  which  lies  before  him,  swathed  in 
silver  veils  of  moonlight,  appears  to  him  like 
an  abyss  over  which  mists  are  brewing;  he 
feels  as  if  the  arm  which  is  just  being  pushed 
so  gently  and  caressingly  through  his  were 
dragging  him  down — down  into  the  deepest 
depths. 

"Good-night,"  he  murmurs,  half  turned 
away  from  his  brother. 

"Aren't  you  even  going  to  shake  hands?" 
asked  Martin,  with  playful  reproach,  and, 


THE  SILENT  MILL  147 

when  Johannes  hesitatingly  extends  his  right 
hand,  he  gives  it  a  hearty  shake.  What  pain 
such  a  shake  of  the  hand  can  inflict! 

The  din  of  the  fete  more  and  more  dies 
away  into  the  distance.  The  many-voiced 
tumult  becomes  a  dull  roaring  in  which  only 
the  shrill  tinkle  of  the  merry-go-round  is  dis- 
tinguishable, and  when  the  dance-music, 
which  has  been  silent  so  long,  commences 
anew,  it  drowns  everything  else  with  its 
piercing  trumpet-blasts. 

But  even  that  grows  more  and  more  in- 
distinct, and  the  big  drum  alone,  which  hith- 
erto has  played  only  a  modest  part,  now 
gains  ascendancy  over  the  other  instruments, 
for  its  dull,  droning  beat  travels  furthest  into 
the  distance.  Silently  they  walk  beside  each 
other — neither  ventures  to  address  the  other. 
Trude's  arm  trembles  in  his;  her  eyes  rest 
upon  the  mists  which  rise  up  in  the  greenish 
light  from  the  meadows. 


148         THE  SILENT  MILL 

She  steps  along  bravely,  though  she  limps 
a  little  and  from  time  to  time  gives  vent  to 
a  low  moan. 

They  have  perhaps  been  walking  for  about 
five  minutes  when  she  turns  round  and 
points  with  outstretched  hand  towards  the 
twinkling  lights  of  the  festival  ground,  that 
glisten  against  the  black  back-ground  of  the 
pine-wood.  The  merry-go-round  is  spin- 
ning its  glittering  hoop  round,  and  the  can- 
vas partition  of  the  dancing-room  sparkles 
like  a  curtain  of  woven  flames. 

"Look,  how  lovely!"  she  whispers  timidly. 

He  nods. 

"Johannes!" 

"Whatisit,Trude?" 

"Don't  be  cross  with  me!" 

"Why— should  I?" 

"Why  did  you  go  away  from  the  danc- 
ing?" 

"Because  it  was  too  hot  for  me  in  the 
room." 


THE  SILENT  MILL          149 

"Not  because  I  danced  with  some  one 
else?" 

"Oh!  dear  no!" 

"You  know,  Hans,  I  suddenly  felt  so 
lonely  and  forsaken  that  it  was  all  I  could 
do  to  keep  from  crying.  He  might  have  said 
he  didn't  want  me  to  dance  with  anyone  else, 
I  said  to  myself — for  whom  else  did  I  go  to 
the  fete  but  for  him?  For  whom  did  I  adorn 
myself  but  for  him?  And  my  foot  hurt  me 
a  thousand  times  worse  than  before;  and 
then  suddenly — well,  you  know  yourself 
what  happened." 

He  sets  his  teeth ;  his  arms  twitch,  as  if  he 
must  press  her  to  him.  Her  head  leans 
softly  against  his  shoulder ;  her  shining  eyes 
beam  up  at  him — when  suddenly  she  gives  a 
loud  cry:  her  injured  foot  which  she  can  only 
just  drag  along  the  ground,  has  hit  against 
a  pointed  stone.  She  tries  to  keep  up,  but 
her  arm  slips  away  from  his,  and,  overcome 
by  pain,  she  lets  herself  drop  on  to  the  grass. 


150          THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Just  for  a  moment  I  should  like  to  lie 
here,"  she  says,  and  wipes  the  cold  perspira- 
tion from  her  brow ;  then  she  throws  herself 
down  on  her  face  and  lies  there  for  a  while 
motionless.  He  grows  frightened  when  he 
sees  her  thus.  "Come  on,"  he  exhorts  her, 
"you  will  catch  cold  here." 

She  stretches  out  her  right  hand  to  him 
with  her  face  turned  away  and  says,  "Help 
me  up,"  but  when  she  attempts  to  walk,  she 
breaks  down  once  more.  "You  see,  it  won't 
do,"  she  says  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Then  I  will  carry  you,"  he  cries,  opening 
out  his  arms  wide. 

A  sound,  half  of  pain,  half  of  joy,  escapes 
her  lips;  next  moment  her  body  lies  upraised 
in  his  arms.  She  sighs  deeply,  and,  closing 
her  eyes,  leans  her  head  against  his  cheek— 
her  bosom  heaves  upon  his  breast ;  her  wav- 
ing hair  ripples  over  his  neck;  her  warming 
breath  caresses  his  glowing  countenance. 
More  firmly  does  he  press  her  trembling 


THE  SILENT  MILL          151 

body  to  him.  Away,  away  further,  ever 
further  away,  even  though  his  strength  fail! 
Away,  to  the  ends  of  the  earth!  His  breath 
becomes  labored,  acute  pains  dart  through 
his  side,  before  his  eyes  there  floats  a  red  mist 
—he  feels  as  though  he  were  about  to  drop 
down  and  give  up  his  ghost — but  he  must  go 
on — further,  further. — 

Over  there  the  river  beckons;  the  weir's 
hollow  roaring  comes  through  the  silent 
night;  the  splashing  drops  of  water  sparkle 
in  the  moonbeams. 

She  lets  her  head  fall  back  upon  his  arm; 
a  melancholy  yet  blissful  smile  plays  about 
her  half -opened  lips ;  and  now  she  opens  her 
eyes,  in  whose  somber  depths  the  reflection  of 
the  moon  is  floating. 

"Where  are  we?"  she  murmurs. 

"At  the  river's  edge,"  he  gasps. 

"Put  me  down." 

"I  must — I  cannot." 

Close  to  the  water's  edge  he  lays  her  down ; 


152          THE  SILENT  MILL 

then  he  stretches  himself  full  length  on  the 
grass,  and  presses  his  hand  to  his  heart  and 
struggles  for  breath.  His  temples  are  throb- 
bing, he  is  in  a  fair  way  to  lose  consciousness ; 
but,  pulling  himself  together  with  an  effort, 
he  bends  his  body  towards  the  river,  ladles 
out  a  handful  of  water  and  bathes  his  fore- 
head with  it. 

That  restores  him  to  consciousness.  He 
turns  to  Trude.  She  has  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands  and  is  moaning  softly  to  herself. 

"Does  it  hurt  very  much?"  he  asks. 

"It  burns!" 

"Dip  your  foot  in  the  water.  That  will 
cool  it." 

She  drops  her  hands  and  looks  at  him  in 
surprise. 

"It  has  done  me  good,"  he  says,  pointing 
to  his  forehead,  from  which  single  drops  of 
water  are  still  trickling  down.  Then  she 
bends  forward  and  tries  to  pull  off  her  shoe, 
but  her  hand  trembles,  and  she  grows  faint 


THE  SILENT  MILL          153 

with  the  effort.  "Let  me  help  you,"  he  says. 
One  pull — her  shoe  flies  to  one  side;  her 
stocking  follows,  and,  pushing  herself  for- 
ward to  the  very  edge  of  the  bank,  she  dips 
her  bare  foot  up  to  the  ankle  in  the  cooling 
stream. 

"Oh,  how  refreshing  it  is!"  she  murmurs 
with  a  deep  breath;  then,  turning  to  right 
and  to  left,  she  seeks  a  support  for  her  body. 

"Lean  against  me,"  he  says.  Then  she 
lets  her  head  drop  upon  his  shoulder.  His 
arm  twitches,  but  he  does  not  dare  to  twine  it 
round  her  waist;  he  hardly  dares  to  move. 
His  breath  comes  heavily;  his  eyes  stare  on 
to  the  stream,  through  the  crystal  waters  of 
which  Trude's  white  foot  gleams  like  a 
mother-o'-pearl  shell  resting  in  its  depths. 

They  sit  there  in  silence.  Just  in  front  of 
them,  at  the  weir,  the  water's  rush  and  roar. 
The  spray  forms  a  silver  bridge  from  bank 
to  bank,  and  the  waves  break  at  their  feet. 
From  time  to  time  the  soft  night-breeze  wafts 


154          THE  SILENT  MILL 

hushed  music  towards  them,  and  the  monoto- 
nous droning  of  the  big  drum  comes  to  them 
mingled  with  the  dull  note  of  the  bittern. 

Suddenly  a  shudder  passes  through  her 
frame. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"I  am  shivering." 

"Take  your  foot  out  of  the  water  at  once." 
She  does  as  she  is  bid,  then  draws  from  her 
pocket  the  dainty  little  cambric  handkerchief 
which  she  had  for  the  ball.  "That  is  no 
good,"  he  says,  and  with  a  trembling  hand 
pulls  out  his  own  coarser  handkerchief. 
"Let  me  dry  you!"  Silently,  with  a  dumb, 
pleading  look,  she  submits,  and  when  he  feels 
the  soft,  cool  foot  between  his  hands,  every- 
thing seems  to  whirl  before  him;  a  sort  of 
fiery  madness  comes  over  him,  and,  bending 
down,  to  the  ground,  he  presses  his  fevered 
brow  upon  it. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  she  cries  out. 

He  starts  up.  In  wild  ecstasy  their  eyes 


THE  SILENT  MILL          155 

meet — one  wild,  exuberant  cry,  and  they  lie 
in  each  other's  arms.  His  kisses  burn  hot 
upon  her  lips.  She  laughs  and  cries  and 
takes  his  head  between  her  hands  and  strokes 
his  hair  and  leans  her  cheek  against  his  cheek 
and  kisses  his  forehead  and  both  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling!  How  I 
love  you  1" 

"Are  you  my  very  own?" 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"Shall  you  always  love  me?" 

"Always!  Always!  And  you — you  will 
never  again  leave  me  alone  like  to-day  so  that 
Martin—" 

Abruptly  she  stops  short.  Silence  weighs 
upon  them !  What  terrible  silence !  The  big 
drum  drones  in  the  distance.  The  waters  roar. 

Two  deathly  pale  faces  gaze  at  each  other. 

And  now  she  screams  aloud.  "Oh  Lord, 
my  God!"  is  the  cry  which  resounds  through 
the  night. 

Loudly  moaning,  he  covers  his  face  with 


156         THE  SILENT  MILL 

his  hands.  Tearless  sobs  shake  his  frame. 
Before  his  eyes  everything  is  aflame — aflame 
with  a  blood-red  light  as  if  the  whole  world 
were  set  on  fire.  Now  it  is  all  suddenly  made 
clear  as  day  to  him !  What  dawned  mysteri- 
ously within  him  in  yonder  midsummer 
night,  what  flashed  like  lightning  through 
his  brain  on  that  evening  when  Trude  broke 
down  sobbing  in  the  middle  of  her  song — all 
now  arises  before  him  like  a  glowing  ball  of 
fire.  Every  flame  speaks  of  hate;  every 
ray  flashes  with  torturing  jealousy  through 
his  soul,  every  gleam  pierces  his  heart  with 
fear  and  guilty  consciousness. 

Trude  has  thrown  herself  face  downwards 
upon  the  ground,  and  is  weeping — weeping 
bitterly. 

With  bowed  head  and  folded  hands  he 
gazes  upon  her  fair  form,  lying  before  him 
in  an  agony  of  woe. 

"Come  home,"  he  says  tonelessly.  She 
lifts  her  head  and  plants  her  arms  firmly 


THE  SILENT  MILL          157 

upon  the  ground;  but  when  he  attempts  to 
help  her  up,  she  screams  out:  "Do  not  touch 
me!"  Twice,  thrice,  she  endeavors  to  stand 
upright,  but  again  and  again  she  breaks 
down.  Then  without  a  word  she  stretches 
forth  her  arms,  and  suffers  herself  to  be 
drawn  up  by  him.  In  silence  he  guides  her 
feeble  steps  to  the  mill.  Her  tears  are  dried 
up.  The  rigidness  of  despair  has  settled 
upon  her  deathly  pale  features.  She  keeps 
her  face  averted  and  resistingly  allows  him 
to  drag  her  along.  Before  the  threshold  of 
the  veranda  she  loosens  her  arm  from  his, 
and,  with  what  little  strength  is  left  to  her, 
she  darts  away  from  him  towards  the  house- 
door.  Her  figure  disappears  among  the 
dark  foliage. 

The  knocker  gives  forth  its  dull  beats. 
Once — twice,  then  shuffling  footsteps  become 
audible  in  the  entrancehall ;  the  key  is 
turned ;  a  dark  yellow  ray  of  light  beams  out 
into  the  moonlight  night. 


158          THE  SILENT  MILL 

"For  heaven's  sake,  madam,  how  pale  you 
look!"  the  maid  ejaculates  in  a  terrified 
voice.  .  .  .  The  door  closes  with  a  bang. 

For  a  long  time  Johannes  keeps  on  star- 
ing at  the  place  where  she  has  disappeared. 
— A  cold  shiver  which  runs  through  him 
from  head  to  foot  rouses  him  at  length.  Ab- 
sentmindedly  he  slinks  across  the  moonlit 
yard, — strokes  the  dogs  that  with  joyous 
barking  drag  at  their  chains, — casts  an  in- 
different glance  towards  the  motionless  mill- 
wheel,  beneath  the  shadows  of  which  the 
waters  glide  along  like  glittering  snakes. 
Some  indefinable  impulse  drives  him  for- 
ward and  away.  The  ground  of  the  mill- 
yard  burns  beneath  his  feet.  He  wanders 
across  the  meadows,  back  to  the  weir — to  the 
spot  where  he  was  sitting  with  Trude.  On 
the  grass  there  gleams  her  blue  silk  shoe,  and 
not  far  from  it  lies  her  long,  fine  stocking. 
So  she  must  have  limped  home  with  her  bare 
foot  and  probably  is  not  even  conscious  of 


THE  SILENT  MILL          159 

the  fact !  He  breaks  into  a  shrill  laugh,  takes 
up  both  and  flings  them  far  into  the  foaming 
waters. 

Whither  shall  he  turn  now?  The  mill  has 
closed  its  portals  upon  him  forevermore. 
Whither  can  he  go  now?  Shall  he  lay  him- 
self down  to  rest  under  some  haystack?  He 
cannot  sleep  even  if  he  does.  Stay!  He 
knows  of  a  jolly  set  of  fellows — though  he 
despised  them  a  little  while  ago,  they  will 
just  suit  him  now. 

When,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
Martin  Rockhammer  has  shaken  himself  free 
of  his  drinking  companions  and  is  stepping, 
in  the  happiest  of  moods,  out  on  to  the  festi- 
val ground,  when  the  bluish-gray  light  of 
dawning  day  is  beginning  to  illumine  the  do- 
ings of  these  night-birds,  he  is  met  by  a  band 
of  drunken  louts,  who,  singing  obscene  songs, 
break  in  single  file  through  the  ranks  of  the 
promenading  couples.  They  are  headed  by 
the  locksmith  Garmann,  a  fellow  of  bad  re- 


160          THE  SILENT  MILL 

pute  who  practices  poaching  by  night  and  in 
whose  train  now  follow  other  good-for- 
nothing  scamps.  Intending  to  turn  them 
out  of  the  place  forthwith,  Martin  steps 
towards  them.  But  suddenly  he  stops  as  if 
turned  to  stone;  his  arms  drop  down  at  his 
sides:  there  in  the  midst  of  this  crew,  with 
glassy  eyes  and  drunken  gestures  staggers 
his  brother  Johannes. 

"Johannes !"  he  cries  out,  horrified. 

He  starts  back;  his  drink-inflamed  face 
grows  ashy  pale ;  a  frightened  gleam  flickers 
in  his  eyes — he  trembles — he  stretches  forth 
his  arm  as  if  to  ward  him  off — and  staggers 
back — two — three  paces.  Martin  feels  his 
anger  disappear.  This  picture  of  misery 
arouses  his  pity.  He  follows  after  Johannes, 
and,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  he  says  in  loving 
tones:  "Come,  brother;  it  is  late,  let  us  go 
home."  But  Johannes  shrinks  back  in 
horror  at  the  touch  of  his  hand,  and  fixing 
his  gaze  upon  him  in  mortal  agony,  he  says  in 


THE  SILENT  MILL          161 

a  hoarse  voice:  "Leave  me — I  do  not  wish  to 
— I  do  not  wish  to  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  you — I  am  no  longer  your  brother." 
Martin  starts  up,  clutches  with  his  two  hands 
at  the  slab  of  the  table  near  him  and  then 
drops  down  upon  the  nearest  bench  as  if 
felled  by  the  stroke  of  an  axe. 

Johannes,  however,  rushes  away.  The 
forest  closes  in  upon  him. 

Henceforth  come  sad  days  for  the  Rock- 
hammer  mill. 

When  Martin  reached  home  on  that  morn- 
ing, when  he  found  the  whole  house  quiet, 
as  quiet  as  a  mouse,  he  took  the  key  of  the 
mill  from  the  wall  and  slunk  off  to  that  mel- 
ancholy place  which  he  had  built  up  as  the 
temple  of  his  guilt.  There  his  people  found 
him  at  midday,  pale  as  the  whitewashed 
walls,  his  head  bowed  upon  his  hands,  mut- 
tering to  himself  incessantly:  "Retribution 
for  Fritz!  Retribution  for  Fritz!"  The 


162          THE  SILENT  MILL 

phantom,  the  old  terrible  phantom,  which  he 
had  thought  was  laid  for  evermore,  has  cast 
itself  upon  him  anew  and  is  twining  its 
strangling  claw  about  his  neck. 

The  men  had  to  drag  him  almost  by  force 
from  his  den.  With  weary,  halting  steps  he 
staggered  out  of  the  mill.  His  wife  he  found 
crouching  in  a  corner,  with  hollow  cheeks  and 
gaunt,  terrified  eyes.  Then  he  took  her  face 
between  his  two  hands,  looked  for  a  while 
with  stern  looks  at  the  trembling  woman,  and 
once  more  murmured  the  mournful  refrain: 
"Retribution  for  Fritz!  Retribution  for 
Fritz!" 

When  she  heard  his  ominous  words,  a  cold 
shiver  ran  through  her  frame.  "Does  he 
know?  Does  he  not  know?  Has  Johannes 
confessed  to  him!  Has  he  found  out  by 
chance?  Does  he  perhaps  only  suspect?" 
Since  that  time  her  soul  is  fretting  itself 
away;  her  body  repines  in  fear  of  this  man 
and  in  yearning  for  that  other,  whom  love  of 


THE  SILENT  MILL          163 

her  has  driven  away.  She  grows  pale  and 
thin ;  her  cheeks  fade.  She  steals  about  like 
a  somnambulist.  Round  her  eyes  bluish 
grooves  are  outlined,  and  grow  broader  and 
broader,  and  about  her  mouth  is  graven  a 
tiny  wrinkle  which  keeps  on  twitching  and 
moving  like  a  dancing  will-o'-the-wisp. 

Martin  remarks  nothing  of  all  this.  His 
whole  being  is  absorbed  in  sorrow  for  his  lost 
brother.  During  the  first  few  days,  he  has 
hoped  from  hour  to  hour  for  his  return — 
hoped  that  he  was  possibly  quite  unconscious 
of  the  words  he  spoke  in  the  madness  of  in- 
toxication. As  for  him — he  would  verily  be 
the  very  last  to  remind  him  of  them.  But 
when  day  after  day  passes  without  any  news 
of  Johannes,  his  fear  grows  more  and  more 
terrible,  he  begins  to  search  for  the  lost  one ; 
—at  first  with  little  result,  for  the  inter- 
course between  one  village  and  the  next  is 
very  slight.  But  gradually  one  report  after 
another  reaches  the  mill.  To-day  he  has 


164          THE  SILENT  MILL 

been  seen  here,  yesterday,  there — erring  rest- 
lessly from  place  to  place  but  always  sur- 
rounded by  a  band  of  merry-makers.  The 
people  call  him  "Madcap  Hans,"  and,  wher- 
ever he  appears,  the  public-house  is  sure  to  be 
full — corks  fly  and  glasses  clink,  and  some- 
times, when  things  become  specially  lively, 
the  window-panes  clink  too,  for  the  bottles 
go  flying  out  through  them  into  the  street. 
Keep  it  up!  "Madcap  Hans"  will  pay  up 
for  the  whole  lot.  He  will  stand  treat  to 
any  one  he  happens  to  come  across,  and  there 
are  boisterous  songs  and  comic  anecdotes  fit 
to  make  one's  sides  split  with  laughing. 
Yes,  he's  a  fine  bottle-companion,  is  "Mad- 
cap Hans." 

Soon,  too,  various  very  doubtful  person- 
ages appear  at  the  door  of  the  Rockhammer 
mill,  people  with  whom  one  does  not  like  to 
come  into  contact;  such  as  the  corn-usurer, 
Lob  Levi  from  Beelitzhof,  and  the  common 
butcher  Hoffman  from  Gruenehalde;  they 


THE  SILENT  MILL          165 

present  yellow,  greasy  little  papers  which 
bear  his  brother's  signature  and  turn  out  to 
be  promissory  notes  with  such  and  such  in- 
terest for  so  many  days. 

Martin  stares  for  a  long  time  at  the  un- 
steady hand- writing ;  where  the  strokes  are 
all  tumbling  over  as  if  drunk,  then  he  goes 
to  his  safe  and,  without  a  word,  pays  the 
debts  as  well  as  the  usurious  interest.  How 
gladly  he  would  give  the  half  of  his  fortune, 
could  he  buy  his  brother's  return  therewith! 

At  length  he  has  the  horses  put  to  the  car- 
riage and  himself  sets  out  in  quest.  He 
drives  miles  away;  he  is  about  whole  nights 
through,  but  never  does  he  succeed  in  getting 
hold  of  his  brother.  The  information  he  re- 
reives  from  the  inn-keepers  is  scanty  and 
confused — some  answer  him  with  awkward 
prevarication,  others  with  sly  attempts  at 
concealment — they  all  seem  to  guess  that 
their  rich  profits  will  go  to  the  devil  as  soon 
as  the  owner  of  the  Rockhammer  mill  once 


166          THE  SILENT  MILL 

more  gets  possession  of  his  scape-grace 
brother.  When  Martin  begins  to  notice  that 
he  is  being  taken  in,  he  loses  heart.  He 
has  the  carriage  put  up  in  the  coach-house 
and  locks  himself  in  for  several  days  in  his 
"office."  During  that  time  he  is  gravely 
considering  whether  it  would  be  advisable  to 
secure  the  service  of  the  Marienfeld  gen- 
darmes. For  him,  of  course,  by  virtue  of  his 
official  authority,  it  would  be  an  easy  matter 
to  extort  the  truth  from  these  people.  Yet 
no  I — it  would  hardly  be  compatible  with  the 
honor  of  the  Rockhammer  family  to  have  his 
brother  hunted  for  by  the  police — why  it 
would  make  his  old  father  turn  in  his  grave ! 
A  cold,  brought  on  by  his  nocturnal  expe- 
ditions, throws  him  upon  the  sickbed. 
Through  two  terrible  weeks  Trude  sits  by 
day  and  by  night  at  his  bedside,  tortured  by 
his  delirious  ravings  in  which  his  two  broth- 
ers, the  dead  and  the  living  one,  now  singly, 
now  together,  transformed  to  one  horrible 


THE  SILENT  MILL          167 

two-headed  monster,  haunt  and  encircle  him. 

As  soon  as  he  is  halfway  convalescent,  he 
has  the  carriage  got  ready.  Some  time  he 
must  find  him ! 

And  he  does  find  him. 

Late  one  evening  at  the  beginning  of  Sep- 
tember, his  road  happens  to  pass  through 

B ,  a  village  two  miles  north  of  Marien- 

feld. 

Through  the  closed  shutters  of  the  tavern 
boisterous  noises  reach  his  ears — stamping  of 
feet,  brawling  and  drunken  singing.  Slowly 
he  gets  out  of  the  carriage,  and  ties  up  his 
horse  at  the  entrance  to  the  inn.  The  lantern 
flickers  dimly  in  the  night  wind — heavy 
drops  of  rain  come  pelting  down.  The 
handle  of  the  taproom  door  rattles  in  his 
hand ;  one  push — it  flies  open  wide.  Thick, 
bluish-yellow  tobacco  fumes  assail  him  as  he 
enters,  mixed  with  the  odor  of  stale  beer  and 
foul-smelling  spirits. 

And  there,  at  the  top  end  of  the  long, 


168          THE  SILENT  MILL 

roughly-hewn  table,  with  flabby  cheeks,  with 
his  eyes  all  red  and  swollen,  with  that  glassy 
stare  habitual  to  drunkards,  with  matted, 
unkempt  hair,  with  a  dirty  shirt-collar  and 
slovenly  coat  to  which  hang  blades  of  straw 
— perhaps  the  reminders  of  his  last  night 
quarters — there  that  picture  of  precocious 
vice  and  hopeless  ruin,  that,  that  is  all  that 
remains  to  him  of  his  darling,  of  his  all  in 
all.  .  .  . 

"Johannes !"  he  cries,  and  the  driver's  whip 
which  he  holds  in  his  hand  falls  clattering  to 
the  ground. 

A  dead  silence  comes  over  the  densely 
crowded  room,  as  the  tipplers  gaze  open- 
mouthed  at  this  intruder.  The  wretched 
man  has  started  up  from  his  seat,  his  face 
petrified  with  nameless  fear,  a  hollow  groan 
breaks  from  his  lips ;  with  one  desperate  leap 
he  springs  upon  the  table ;  with  a  second  one 
he  endeavors  to  reach  the  door  over  the  heads 
of  those  sitting  nearest  to  him. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          169 

No  good!  His  brother's  iron  fist  is 
planted  upon  his  chest. 

"Stay  here!"  he  hears  close  to  his  ear  in 
angry,  muffled  accents;  thereupon  he  feels 
himself  being  pushed  with  superhuman 
strength  towards  the  fire-corner,  where  he 
sinks  down  helplessly. 

Then  Martin  opens  the  door  as  far  as  ever 
its  hinges  will  allow,  points  with  the  butt- 
end  of  his  whip  towards  the  dark  entry  and 
plants  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  taproom. 

"Out  with  you!"  he  cries  in  a  voice  which 
makes  the  glasses  on  the  table  vibrate.  The 
tipplers,  most  of  them  green  youths,  retreat 
in  terror  before  him,  and  hastily  don  their 
caps;  only  here  and  there  some  suppressed 
grumbling  is  heard. 

"Out  with  you!"  he  cried  once  more  and 
makes  a  gesture  as  if  about  to  take  one  of 
the  nearest  grumblers  by  the  throat.  Two 
minutes  later  the  taproom  is  swept  clear 
.  .  .  only  the  inkeeper  remains,  standing 


170         THE  SILENT  MILL 

half  petrified  with  fear  behind  the  bar ;  now, 
when  Martin  fixes  his  gloomy  gaze  upon 
him,  he  begins  to  complain  in  a  whining  tone 
of  this  disturbance  to  his  business. 

Martin  puts  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  throws 
him  a  handful  of  florins  and  says :  "I  wish  to 
be  alone  with  him." 

When  he  has  bolted  the  door  after  the 
humbly  bowing  innkeeper,  he  walks  with 
slow  steps  towards  Johannes,  who  is  crouch- 
ing motionless  in  his  corner,  with  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands.  He  places  his  hand 
gently  upon  his  shoulder  and  says  in  a  voice 
in  which  infinite  love  and  infinite  pain 
tremble:  "Rise  up,  my  boy;  let  us  talk  to  one 
another." 

Johannes  does  not  stir. 

"Will  you  not  tell  me  what  grievance  you 
have  against  me?  It  will  do  you  good  to 
speak  out,  my  boy!  Relieve  your  feelings, 
my  boy!" 

Johannes   drops   his   hands   and   laughs 


THE  SILENT  MILL          171 

hoarsely:  "Relieve  my  feelings!  Ha-ha-ha!" 
That  secret  terror  that  distorted  his  features 
before  as  with  a  cramp  has  now  changed  to 
dull,  obstinate  stubbornness. 

Wavering  between  horror  and  pity,  Mar- 
tin looks  upon  this  countenance  in  which 
deep  furrows  have  left  nothing,  not  a  trace 
of  his  former  open-faced,  good-natured  Jo- 
hannes. Every  evil  passion  must  have 
worked  therein  to  disfigure  it  so  wretchedly 
within  six  short  weeks.  Now  he  raises  him- 
self up  and  casts  a  searching  look  towards 
the  door.  "It  seems  you  have  locked  me  in," 
he  says  with  a  fresh  outburst  of  laughter  that 
cuts  Martin  to  the  quick. 

"Yes." 

"I  suppose  you  intend  dragging  me  with 
you  like  a  criminal?" 

"Johannes!" 

"Go  on.  I  know  you  are  the  stronger! 
But  one  thing  let  me  tell  you :  I  am  not  yet 
so  wretched  but  that  I  should  resist.  I 


172          THE  SILENT  MILL 

would  rather  fling  myself  from  the  carriage 
and  dash  my  head  against  a  curbstone  than 
come  back  with  you." 

"Have  pity,  merciful  God!"  cries  Martin. 
"My  boy,  my  boy,  what  have  they  made  of 
you?" 

Johannes  paces  the  room  with  heavy  tread 
and  snaps  open  the  lids  of  the  beer-mugs  as 
he  passes. 

"Cut  it  short,"  he  then  says,  standing  still. 
"What  do  you  want  with  me  that  you  im- 
prison me  here?" 

Martin  goes  silently  to  the  door  and  lets 
the  bolt  fly  back ;  then  he  places  himself  close 
in  front  of  his  brother.  His  bosom  heaves  as 
if  he  were  laboring  to  raise  the  words  he  is 
about  to  speak  from  the  uttermost  depths  of 
his  soul.  But  what  good  is  it?  They  stick 
fast  in  his  throat.  He  has  never  been  a  flu- 
ent talker — poor,  shy  fellow  that  he  is,  and 
how  is  he  to  find  tongues  of  flame  now  with 
which  to  talk  this  madman  out  of  his  delu- 


THE  SILENT  MILL          173 

sions?  All  he  can  stammer  forth  is  that  one 
question : 

"What  have  I  done  to  you?  What  have  I 
done  to  you?" 

He  says  the  words  twice,  thrice,  and  over 
and  over  again.  What  better  can  he  find 
to  say?  All  his  love,  all  his  misery,  are  con- 
tained in  these. 

Johannes  answers  not  a  word.  He  has 
seated  himself  on  a  bench,  and  is  running  the 
fingers  of  both  his  hands  through  his  un- 
kempt hair.  About  his  lips  there  lurks  a 
smile — a  terrible  smile,  void  of  comfort  or 
hope. 

At  length  he  interrupts  his  helpless  brother 
who  keeps  on  repeating  his  formula  as  if  to 
conjure  therewith.  "Let  that  be,"  he  says, 
"you  have  nothing  to  say  to  me ;  nor  can  you 
have  anything  to  say  to  me.  I  have  done 
with  myself,  with  you,  with  the  whole  world. 
What  I  have  been  through  in  these  last  six 
weeks — I  tell  you,  since  I  left  the  mill,  I 


174          THE  SILENT  MILL 

have  slept  under  no  roof,  for  I  felt  sure  it 
must  fall  down  upon  me." 

"But  for  heaven's  sake,  what   .    .    .  ?" 

"Do  not  ask  me.  .  .  .  It  is  no  good,  for 
you  won't  get  to  know,  not  through  me. 
.  .  .  Let  all  talking  alone,  for  it  is  to  no 
purpose  .  .  .  and  if  you  were  to  entreat 
me  by  the  memory  of  our  parents.  .  .  .  ' 

"Yes,  our  parents!"  stammers  Martin 
joyfully.  Why  did  he  not  think  of  that 
sooner? 

"Let  them  rest  quietly  in  their  graves," 
says  Johannes  with  an  ugly  laugh.  "Even 
that  won't  catch  on  with  me.  They  can't 
prevent  me  from  going  to  the  dogs  nor  from 
hating  you!" 

Martin  groans  aloud  and  drops  down  as  if 
struck. 

"It  is  just  because  I  did  always  think  of 
them,  because  I  tried  again  and  again  to  re- 
member that  Martin  Rockhammer  is  my 
brother,  that  things  have  turned  out  like  this 


THE  SILENT  MILL          175 

and  not  differently.  It  has  cost  me  a  heavy 
sacrifice, — you  may  believe  me  that !  I  have 
behaved  quite  fairly  towards  you,  ha-ha-ha, 
brother — quite  fairly!" 

Martin  inquires  no  further.  The  solution 
of  this  riddle  is  perfectly  clear  to  him.  Old 
blood-guilt  has  risen  from  the  grave  to  claim 
its  penalty.  .  .  .  He  folds  his  hands  and 
mutters  softly: 

"Retribution  for  Fritz!  Retribution  for 
Fritz!" 

"For  one  reason,  however,  you  are  quite 
right  to  remind  me  of  our  parents;  I  must 
not  bring  shame  upon  their  name,  upon  the 
name  of  Rockhammer!  That  is  the  one 
thing  which  has  been  worrying  me  all  along 
—even  though  it  did  not  alter  matters;  for 
surely  a  man  must  enjoy  himself  somehow 
.  .  .  ha-ha-ha !  After  all  I  am  quite  glad 
to  have  met  you,  for  we  can  talk  things  over 
quietly  .  .  .  I  intend  going  to  America !" 

Martin  looks  for  a  while  into  his  glowing, 


176          THE  SILENT  MILL 

bloated  face;  then  he  says  softly,  "Go,  in 
God's  name!"  and  lets  his  hand  drop  heavily 
upon  the  table  slab. 

"And  soon,  too,  what's  more,"  Johannes 
continues.  "I  have  already  made  enquiries. 
On  the  first  of  October  the  ship  sails  from 
Bremen — next  week  I  shall  have  to  leave 
here, — you  know  what  part  of  our  inherit- 
ance is  owing  to  me — I  dare  say,  by  the  bye, 
that  I  have  got  through  a  good  bit  of  it  al- 
ready; give  me  as  much  as  you  happen  to 
have  handy  in  cash  and  send  it  to  Franz 
Maas ;  I  will  fetch  it  from  him." 

"And  won't  you  come  just  once  more  to 
the— to  the—" 

"To  the  mill?  Never!"  cries  Johannes 
starting  up,  while  a  restless  gleam,  full 
of  terror  and  of  longing,  comes  into  his 
eyes. 

"And  you  expect  me  to — I  am  to  bid  you 
good-bye  here — here  in  this  disgusting  hole 
— good-bye  forever?  good-bye  forever?" 


THE  SILENT  MILL          177 

"I  suppose  that  is  what  it  will  be,"  says  Jo- 
hannes, bowing  his  head. 

Then  Martin  falls  all  in  a  heap  and  once 
more  murmurs,  "Retribution  for  Fritz !" 

With  burning  eyes  Johannes  stares  at  his 
brother,  crouching  there  before  him  as  if 
broken,  body  and  soul.  .  .  .  He  is  quite 
determined  never  to  see  him  again  .  .  . 
but  he  must  give  a  hand  at  parting! 

"Farewell,  brother,"  he  says,  approaching 
him,  as  he  sits  there  motionless.  "Keep  well 
and  happy!"  Then,  suddenly,  a  warm, 
gentle  sensation  comes  over  him.  His  brain 
reels.  A  thousand  scenes  seem  simultan- 
eously to  be  evoked.  He  sees  himself  as  a 
child,  petted  and  spoilt  by  his  elder  brother, 
he  sees  himself  as  a  youth  proudly  walking 
at  his  side,  he  sees  himself  with  him  at  their 
parent's  death-bed,  he  sees  himself  hand  in 
hand  with  him  at  that  solemn  moment  when 
they  vowed  never  to  part,  nor  to  let  any  third 
person  come  between  them. 


178         THE  SILENT  MILL 

And  now ! — And  now ! 

"Brother!"  he  cries  aloud — and  loudly 
sobbing  he  falls  at  his  feet. 

"My  boy — my  dear  boy."  He  sobs  and 
cries  with  joy,  and  catches  hold  of  him  with 
both  hands  and  presses  him  to  him  as  if  he 
nevermore  would  let  him  go. 

"Now  I  have  got  you  .  .  .  oh,  thank 
heaven— now  I  have  got  you  I  Now  every- 
thing will  come  right  again — won't  it?  Tell 
me  it  was  all  only  a  dream — only  mad- 
ness! You  did  not  know  what  you  were 
doing — eh?  You  don't  remember  anything 
of  it — eh?  I  bet  you  haven't  any  notion  of 
it  all — eh?  Now  you  have  woke  up,  haven't 
you — you  have  woke  up  again  now?" 

Johannes  digs  his  teeth  into  his  lips  till 
they  smart  and  leans  his  face  upon  his  breast. 
Then  suddenly  a  thought  takes  possession  of 
him  and  weighs  him  down  and  buzzes  in  his 
ears — a  thought  like  a  vampire,  cold  and 
damp,  and  beating  the  air  with  bat's  wings. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          179 

...  In  these  arms  Trude  has  rested  this 
very  day — this  very  day.  .  .  . 

He  jumps  up  abruptly. 

Away  from  this  place,  away  from  this  at- 
mosphere— else  madness  will  really  assail 
him! 

He  rushes  towards  the  door.  One  creak 
of  its  hinges,  one  click  of  the  lock:  he  has  dis- 
appeared. 

Martin  looks  after  him,  mute  with  con- 
sternation ;  then  he  says,  as  if  to  quell  his  ris- 
ing fear: 

"He  is  too  excited;  he  wants  some  fresh 
air.  He  will  come  back!" 

His  glance  falls  upon  the  wooden  clothes- 
pegs  on  the  opposite  wall.  He  smiles,  now 
quite  reassured,  and  says  "He  has  left  his 
cap  here ;  it  is  raining  outside,  the  wind  blows 
cold;  he  will  come  back."  Thereupon  he 
calls  the  innkeeper,  orders  his  horse  to  be 
put  up  and  has  some  hot  grog  mixed  for  his 
brother,  and  a  bed  prepared  for  him.  "For," 


180         THE  SILENT  MILL 

he  says  with  a  blissful  smile,  "he  will  come 
back  again." 

When  everything  is  made  ready  he  sits 
down  on  the  bench  and  becomes  lost  in  brood- 
ing. From  time  to  time  he  murmurs  as  if  to 
resuscitate  his  sinking  courage: 

"He  will  come  back!" 

Outside  the  rain  beats  against  the  window- 
panes,  autumn  blasts  are  soughing  around 
the  housetop,  and  every  gust  of  wind,  every 
drop  of  rain,  seems  to  proclaim : 

"He  will  come  back !  He  will  come  back !" 
The  hours  pass;  the  lamp  goes  out.  .  .  . 
Martin  has  fallen  asleep  over  his  waiting  and 
is  dreaming  of  his  brother's  return. 

In  the  morning  the  people  of  the  inn  wake 
him.  Haggard  and  shivering  he  looks  about 
him.  His  glance  falls  upon  the  empty  bed 
in  which  his  brother  was  to  have  slept.  The 
first  bed  since  six  weeks! — Sadly  he  stands 
there  in  front  of  it  and  stares  at  it.  Then  he 


THE  SILENT  MILL          181 

has  his  conveyance  brought  round  and  drives 
off. 

This  year  autumn  has  come  early.  Since 
a  week  there  has  been  a  rough  north  wind 
which  cuts  through  one's  body  as  if  it  were 
November.  Gusts  of  rain  beat  against  the 
window-panes  and  the  ground  is  already  cov- 
ered with  a  layer  of  yellowish-brown  half- 
decayed  leaves  off  the  lime-trees.  And  how 
soon  it  grows  dark!  In  the  bakery  a  light 
burns  in  the  swinging  lamp  long  before 
supper-time.  Beneath  its  globe  sits  Franz 
Maas,  eagerly  reckoning  up  and  counting. 
On  the  baker's  table  before  him  where  as  a 
rule  the  little  white  round  heaps  of  dough  are 
ranged,  to-day  there  are  little  white  round 
heaps  of  florins,  and  instead  of  the  crisp 
"Bretzels"  to-day  the  paper  of  bank-notes  is 
crackling. 

This  is  the  treasure  which  Martin  Rock- 
hammer  entrusted  to  him  the  Sunday  before, 


182          THE  SILENT  MILL 

with  instructions  to  hand  it  over  to  Johannes. 
He  also  left  a  letter  in  which  the  various 
items  of  the  inheritance  are  set  down  to  a 
penny. 

Every  morning  since  then  he  has  knocked 
at  the  door,  and  each  time  asked  the  selfsame 
question,  "Has  he  been?"  Then  when  Franz 
Maas  shook  his  head,  has  silently  departed 
again. 

To-day  the  same.  To-day  is  Friday;  to- 
day he  must  come  if  he  wants  to  be  in  time 
for  the  Bremen  ship.  Noiselessly  he  has 
opened  the  door  and  is  standing  behind  him, 
just  as  he  is  about  to  lock  the  money  away. 
"I  suppose  that  is  all  for  me,"  he  asks,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Thank  heaven!  you  have  come,"  cries 
Franz,  agreeably  startled.  Then  he  casts  a 
critical  glance  over  his  friend's  figure. 
Martin  must  have  been  exaggerating  when, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  described  his  dilap- 
idated appearance.  He  looks  decent  and 


THE  SILENT  MILL          183 

respectable,  is  wearing  a  brand  new  water- 
proof, beneath  the  turned-back  flaps  of 
which  a  neat  gray  suit  is  visible.  His  hair  is 
smoothly  brushed — he  is  even  shaved.  But 
of  course  his  dark,  dulled  gaze,  the  bagginess 
under  his  eyes,  the  ugly  red  of  his  cheeks,  are 
sad  witnesses  in  this  face,  eretime  so  youth- 
fully joyous. 

And  then  he  grasps  both  his  hands  and 
says: 

"Johannes,  Johannes,  what  has  come  over 
you?" 

"Patience;  you  shall  hear  all!"  he  replies, 
"I  must  confide  in  one  living  soul,  or  it  will 
eat  my  very  heart  out  over  there." 

"Then  you  really  mean  it?  You  in- 
tend—" 

"I  am  off  to-night  by  the  mail-coach.  My 
seat  is  already  booked.  Before  I  came  to 
you,  I  went  once  more  through  the  village. 
It  was  already  dark,  so  I  could  venture — and 
I  took  leave  of  everything.  I  went  to  our 


184          THE  SILENT  MILL 

parents'  grave,  and  as  far  as  the  church  door, 
and  to  the  host  of  the  'Crown,'  to  whom  I 
owed  a  trifle." 

"And  you  forgot  the  mill?" 

Johannes  bites  his  lips  and  chews  at  his 
moustache;  then  he  mutters:  "That  is  still  to 
come." 

"Oh,  how  glad  Martin  will  be,"  cries 
Franz  Maas,  quite  red  with  pleasure  him- 
self. 

"Did  I  say  I  was  going  to  see  Martin?" 
asks  Johannes  between  his  teeth,  while  his 
chest  heaves,  as  if  it  had  a  load  of  embar- 
rassment to  throw  off . 

"What?  You  intend  slinking  about  on 
your  father's  inheritance  like  a  thief, — avoid- 
ing a  meeting  with  any  one?" 

"Not  that  either.  I  have  to  bid  good-bye 
to  some  one,  but  not  to  Martin!" 

"To  whom  else  then? — To  whom  else, 
man?"  cries  Franz  Maas,  in  whom  a  horrible 
suspicion  dawns. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          185 

"Lock  the  door  and  sit  down  here,"  says 
Johannes, — "now  I  will  tell  you." 

The  hours  pass  by;  the  storm  rattles  at 
the  shutters.  The  oil  in  the  lamp  begins  to 
splutter.  The  two  friends  sit  with  their 
heads  together,  their  looks  occasionally  meet- 
ing. Johannes  confesses — conceals  nothing. 
He  begins  with  that  first  meeting  with 
Trude,  up  to  the  moment  when  horror  drove 
him  forth  from  Martin's  embrace — out  into 
the  stormy  night. 

"What  came  after  that,"  he  concludes, 
"can  be  told  in  a  few  words.  I  ran  without 
knowing  whither,  until  the  cold  and  wet  re- 
stored me  to  consciousness.  Then  the  post- 
chaise  from  Marienfeld  just  happened  to 
come  along.  I  stopped  it — at  last  I  got 
under  cover  by  this  means.  Thus  I  came  to 
the  town,  where  I  have  been  putting  up 
till  now.  Lob  Levi  had  just  given  me  a 
hundred  thalers.  With  these  I  rigged 
myself  out  afresh,  for  I  did  not  want  to 


186          THE  SILENT  MILL 

face  Trade  in  the  dilapidated  state  I  was 
in." 

"Miserable  wretch — are  you  going  to 
?" 

"Don't  kick  up  a  row,"  he  says  roughly. 
"It  is  all  arranged,  already.  I  gave  a  note 
for  her  to  a  little  boy  I  met  in  the  street,  and 
waited  till  he  came  back.  She  took  it  from 
him  in  the  kitchen  without  even  a  servant 
noticing  anything.  At  eleven  o'clock  she 
will  be  at  the  weir,  and  I — ha-ha-ha-  .  .  . 
I  too!" 

"Johannes,  I  beg  and  implore  you,  don't 
do  it,"  cries  Franz  in  sheer  terror.  "There's 
sure  to  be  a  misfortune."  Johannes'  reply  is 
a  hoarse  laugh,  and,  with  burning  eyes,  his 
mouth  put  close  to  his  friend's  ear,  he  hisses : 
"Do  you  really  think,  man,  that  I  could  man- 
age to  live  and  to  die  in  a  strange  country  if 
I  did  not  see  her  just  once  more?  Do  you 
imagine  I  should  have  courage  to  stare  for 
four  weeks  at  the  sea  without  throwing  my- 


THE  SILENT  MILL          187 

self  into  it — if  I  did  not  see  her  once  more? 
The  very  air  for  breathing  would  fail  me,  my 
meat  and  drink  would  stick  in  my  throat,  I 
should  rot  away  alive  if  I  did  not  see  her  just 
once  more!" 

When  Franz  hears  all  this  he  refrains 
from  further  discussion. 

Johannes'  restless  glance  wanders  towards 
the  clock.  "It  is  time,"  he  says,  and  takes 
his  cap.  "At  midnight  the  mail-coach  comes 
through  the  village.  Expect  me  at  the  post 
office  and  bring  me  two  hundred-thaler 
notes;  that  will  be  enough  for  my  passage. 
The  rest  you  can  give  back  to  him ;  I  shan't 
want  it!  Good-bye  till  then!"  At  the  door 
he  turns  round  and  asks:  "I  say,  does  my 
breath  smell  of  brandy?" 

"Yes." 

He  breaks  into  a  coarse  laugh;  then  he 
says:  "Give  me  a  few  coffee  beans  to  chew. 
I  don't  want  Trude  to  get  a  horror  of  me  in 
this  last  hour." 


188          THE  SILENT  MILL 

And  when  Franz  has  given  him  what  he 
wants  he  disappears  into  the  darkness. 

It  is  high  water  to-day.  With  a  great  hiss- 
ing and  roaring  the  waters  shoot  down  the 
declivity,  then  sink  down  into  their  foaming 
grave  with  dull,  plaintive  rumblings,  while 
the  glistening  spray  breaks  over  them  in  one 
high-vaulted  arch. 

The  howling  of  the  storm  mingles  with  the 
tumult  of  these  volumes  of  water.  The  old 
alders  alongside  the  river  bow  and  bend  to 
each  other  like  shadowy  giants  come  forth 
in  their  numbers  to  dance  a  reel  in  one  long 
line.  The  heavens  are  obscured  by  heavy 
rain-clouds, — everything  is  dark  and  black 
except  the  snowy  froth,  which  seems  to  throw 
out  an  uncertain  light  against  which  the  out- 
lines of  the  wood  planking  are  dimly  visible. 
Above  that  projects  the  rail  of  the  little 
drawbridge,  in  appearance  like  the  phan- 
tom form  of  a  cat,  creeping  with  out- 
stretched legs  across  a  roof. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          189 

On  the  drawbridge  the  two  meet.  Trude, 
her  head  covered  by  a  dark  shawl,  has  been 
standing  for  a  long  time  beneath  the  alders, 
seeking  shelter  from  the  rain,  and  has  hur- 
ried to  meet  him  as  she  saw  the  outline  of  his 
figure  appear  on  yonder  side  of  the  weir. 

"Trude,  is  it  you?"  he  asks  hurriedly,  look- 
ing searchingly  into  her  face.  She  is  silent 
and  clings  to  the  rail.  The  foam  is  dancing 
before  her  eyes,  in  blue  and  yellow  colors. 

"Trude,"  he  says,  while  he  tries  to  catch 
hold  of  her  hand,  "I  have  come  to  bid  you 
farewell  for  life.  Are  you  going  to  let  me  go 
forth  to  a  strange  land  without  one  word?" 

"And  I  have  come  for  the  peace  of  my 
soul,"  says  she,  shrinking  back  from  his  grop- 
ing hand.  "Hans,  I  have  borne  much  for 
your  sake ;  I  have  grown  older  by  half  a  life- 
time; I  am  weak  and  ill.  Therefore  take 
pity  on  me :  do  not  touch  me — I  do  not  want 
to  return  again  guilt-laden  to  your  brother's 
house  1" 


190         THE  SILENT  MILL 

"Trude — did  you  come  here  to  torture 
me?" 

"Softly,  Hans,  softly — do  not  pain  me! 
Let  us  part  from  one  another  with  clean  and 
honest  hearts,  and  take  peace  and  courage 
with  us — for  all  our  lives.  .  .  .  We  must 
surely  not  rail  at  each  other — not  in  love  and 
not  in  hatred."  She  stops  exhausted;  her 
breath  comes  heavily;  then,  pulling  herself 
together  with  an  effort,  she  continues:  "You 
see,  I  always  knew  that  you  would  come  long 
before  I  got  your  note  to-day;  and,  a  thou- 
sand times  over  I  thought  out  every  word- — 
that  I  was  going  to  say  to  you.  But  of 
course — you  must  not  unsettle  me  so." 

His  eyes  glow  through  the  darkness;  his 
breath  comes  hot ;  and  with  a  shrill  laugh  he 
says : 

"Don't  make  a  halo  round  us.  It  is  no 
good — we  are  both  accursed  anyway  in 
heaven  and  on  earth !  Then  let  us  at  least — " 

He  stops  abruptly,  listening. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          191 

"Hush !  I  thought — I  heard — there  in  the 
meadow!" 

He  holds  his  breath  and  hearkens. 
Nothing  to  be  heard  or  seen.  Whatever  it 
was,  the  storm  and  the  darkness  have  en- 
gulfed it. 

"Come  down  to  the  river's  edge,"  he 
says,  "our  figures  are  so  clearly  defined  up 
here." 

She  leads  the  way;  he  follows.  But  on 
the  slippery  woodwork  she  loses  her  footing. 
Then  he  catches  her  in  his  arms  and  carries 
her  down  to  the  river.  Unresisting,  she 
hangs  upon  his  neck. 

"How  light  you  have  got  since  that  day," 
he  says  softly,  while  he  lets  her  glide  down, 
then  raises  her  up. 

"Oh,  you  would  hardly  recognize  me  if 
you  saw  me,"  she  replies  equally  softly. 

"I  would  give  anything  if  only  I  could!" 
he  says,  and  tries  to  draw  away  the  shawl 
from  about  her  face.  A  pale  oval,  two  dark, 


192          THE  SILENT  MILL 

round  shadows  in  it  where  the  eyes  are — the 
darkness  reveals  no  more. 

"I  feel  like  a  blind  man,"  he  says,  and  his 
trembling  hand  glides  over  her  forehead, 
down  to  her  cheeks,  as  if  by  touch  to  dis- 
tinguish the  loved  features.  She  resists  no 
longer.  Her  head  drops  upon  his  shoulder. 

"How  much  I  wanted  to  say  to  you!"  she 
whispers.  "And  now  I  no  longer  can  think 
of  anything — not  of  anything  at  all." 

He  twines  his  arms  more  closely  around 
her.  They  stand  there  silent  and  motionless 
while  the  storm  tugs  and  tears  at  them,  and 
the  rain  beats  down  upon  their  heads. 

Then  from  the  village  come  the  cracked 
notes  of  the  post-horn,  half  drowned  by  the 
blast. 

"Our  time  is  up,"  he  says,  shivering.  "I 
must  go." 

"Now — the  night?"  she  stammers  voice- 
lessly. 

He  nods. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          193 

"And  I  shall  never  see  you  again?" 

A  wild  scream  rends  the  storm. 

"Johannes,  have  pity,  I  cannot  let  you  go. 
I  cannot  live  without  you!"  Her  fingers  dig 
themselves  into  his  shoulders.  "You  shall 
not — I  will  not  let  you." 

He  tries  to  free  himself  by  main  force. 

"Ah,  well — you  are  going — oh — you — 
you — you  are  wicked!  You  know  that  I 
must  die  if  you  go,  I  cannot — Take  me 
with  you!  Take  me  with  you!" 

"Are  you  out  of  your  senses,  woman?" 
He  covers  his  face  with  his  hands  and  groans 
aloud. 

"So — this  is  what  you  call  being  out  of 

one's  senses !    Does  not  even  a  lamb  struggle 

—when  led  to  the  slaughter?    And  you  are 

capable  of Ah,  is  this  all  your  love  for 

me?  Is  this  all?  Is  this  all?" 

"Don't  you  think  of  Martin?" 

"He  is  your  brother.  That  is  all  I  know 
about  him.  But  I  know  that  I  must  die  if  I 


194          THE  SILENT  MILL 

stay  with  him  any  longer.  It  makes  me 
shudder  to  think  of  him !  Take  me  with  you, 
my  husband!  Take  me  with  you!" 

He  grasps  both  her  wrists,  and  shaking 
her  to  and  fro,  he  whispers  with  half-choked 
utterance : 

"And  do  you  know  besides  that  I  am 
ruined  and  disgraced — an  outcast,  a  drunk- 
ard, no  good  at  all  in  the  world?  If  you 
could  see  me,  you  would  have  a  horror  of  me, 
good  people  shun  me  and  loathe  me — do 
you  think  I  should  be  good  to  you?  I  shall 
never  forgive  you  for  coming  between  me 
and  Martin — never  forgive  you  for  making 
me  sin  against  him  as  I  have  done  for  your 
sake.  He  will  be  between  us  as  long  as  we 
live.  I  shall  insult  you — I  shall  beat  you 
when  I  am  drunk.  You  will  find  it  hell 
at  my  side.  Well?  What  do  you  say 
now?" 

She  bows  her  head  demurely,  folds  her 
hands  and  says:  "Take  me  with  you!"  A 


THE  SILENT  MILL          195 

scream  of  exultant  joy  escapes  his  lips. 
"Then  come — but  come  quickly.  The  coach 
stops  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  No  one  will 
see  us  except  Franz  Maas — the  only  one — 
he  will  not  betray  us.  In  the  town  you  can 
get  clothes  and  then.  .  .  .  Stop!  What 
does  this  mean?" 

The  mill  has  awakened  to  life.  A  yellow 
light  streams  out  into  the  darkness  from  the 
wide-opened  door.  A  lantern  sways  across 
the  yard  then,  thrown  to  one  side,  flies  in  a 
gleaming  curve  through  the  air  like  a  shoot- 
ing star. 

Martin  lies  in  bed  asleep.  Suddenly  there 
is  a  tap  at  the  window-pane. 

"Who  is  there?" 

"I— David!" 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Open  the  door,  Master!  I  have  some- 
thing important  to  tell  you." 

Martin  jumps  out  of  bed,  strikes  a  light 
and  hurries  on  his  clothes.  A  casual  glance 


196         THE  SILENT  MILL 

falls  upon  Trade's  empty  bed.  Evidently 
she  has  dozed  off  on  the  sitting-room  over 
her  sewing,  for  it  is  a  long  time  since  she  has 
known  sound,  healthy  sleep. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asks  David,  who 
steps  into  the  entrance  dripping  like  a 
drowned  cat. 

"Master,"  he  says,  blinking  from  under 
the  peak  of  his  cap,  "it  is  now  more  than 
twenty-eight  years  since  I  first  came  to  the 
mill — and  your  late  father  already  used  to  be 
good  to  me  always.  ..." 

"And  you  drag  me  out  of  bed  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  night  to  tell  me  that?" 

"Yes,  for  to-night  when  I  woke  up  and 
heard  the  rain  pelting  down,  I  suddenly  re- 
membered with  a  start  that  the  sluices  of  the 
lock  were  not  opened.  .  .  .  Perhaps  the 
water  might  get  blocked  up  and  we  could 
not  grind  to-morrow." 

"Haven't  I  told  you  fellows  hundreds  of 
times  that  the  sluices  need  only  be  opened 


THE  SILENT  MILL          197 

when  the  ice  is  drifting?  At  high  water  it 
only  means  unnecessary  labor." 

"Well,  I  didn't  touch  them,"  observes 
David. 

"Then  what  do  you  want?" 

"Because,  when  I  got  to  the  weir  I  saw 
two  lovers  standing  on  the  drawbridge!" 

"And  that's  why?   ..." 

"Then  I  thought  it  was  a  regular  disgrace 
and  a  crying  shame,  and  no  longer — " 

"Let  them  love  each  other,  in  the  devil's 
name!" 

"And  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  tell  you, 
Master,  when  Master  Johannes  and  our 
lady—" 

He  gets  no  further,  for  his  master's  fin- 
gers are  at  his  throat. 

What  has  come  over  Martin,  wretched 
man?  His  face  becomes  livid  and  swollen; 
the  veins  on  his  forehead  stand  out ;  his  nos- 
trils quiver,  his  eyes  seem  to  start  from  their 
sockets — white  foam  is  at  his  mouth. 


198          THE  SILENT  MILL 

Then  he  gives  vent  to  a  sound  like  the  howl 
of  a  jackal,  and,  loosening  his  grip  of  David, 
with  one  wrench  he  tears  the  shirt  at  his 
throat  asunder. 

Two  or  three  deep  breaths,  like  a  man  who 
is  achoking ;  then  he  roars  aloud  in  suddenly 
unfettered  rage:  "Where  are  they?  They 
shall  account  to  me  for  this.  They  have 
been  acting  a  farce!  They  have  deceived 
me!  Where  are  they?  I'll  do  for  them! 
I'll  do  for  them,  then  and  there !" 

He  tears  the  lantern  out  of  terrified 
David's  hand  and  rushes  out.  He  disap- 
pears into  the  wheel-house ;  a  second  later  he 
reappears.  High  above  his  head  there 
gleams  an  axe.  Then  he  swings  the  lantern 
thrice  in  a  circle  and  flings  it  far  away  from 
him  into  the  water.  He  storms  along  in  the 
direction  of  the  weir. 

"There's  some  one  coming,"  whispers 
Trude,  nestling  closer  up  to  Johannes. 

"Probably  they  have  something  to  do  at 


THE  SILENT  MILL          199 

the  sluices,"  he  whispers  back.  "Don't  stir 
and  be  of  good  courage." 

Nearer  and  nearer  hastens  the  dark  figure. 
A  beastlike  roaring  pierces  through  the 
night,  above  the  fury  of  the  storm.  "It  is 
Martin,"  says  Johannes,  staggering  back 
three  paces. 

But  he  collects  himself  quickly,  clutches 
Trude  and  drags  her  with  him  close  up  to  the 
woodwork  at  the  weir,  in  the  darkest  shadow 
of  which  they  both  crouch  down. 

Close  to  their  heads  the  infuriated  man 
races  along.  The  axe,  lifted  on  high,  glints 
in  the  half-light  of  the  foam.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  weir  he  stops.  He  seems  to  be 
gazing  searchingly  across  the  wide  meadow, 
which  spreads  before  him  in  monotonous 
darkness  without  tree  or  shrub. 

"You  keep  watch  at  the  hither  sluice, 
David,"  his  voice  thunders  out  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  mill.  "They  must  be  in  the  field. 
I  shall  catch  them  there !" 


200          THE  SILENT  MILL 

A  cry  of  horror  starts  from  Johannes'  lips. 
He  has  divined  his  brother's  intention.  He 
is  going  to  pull  up  the  drawbridge  and  trap 
them  both  on  the  island.  And  close  behind 
Trude's  neck  hangs  the  chain  which  must  be 
pulled  to  make  the  bridge  move  back.  His 
first  thought  is:  "Protect  the  woman!"  He 
tears  himself  out  of  Trude's  arms,  and 
springs  up  the  slope  of  the  river-bank  to 
offer  himself  as  a  sacrifice  to  his  brother's 
fury. 

Trude  utters  a  piercing  shriek.  Johannes 
in  mortal  danger;  over  there  the  infuriated 
man,  the  axe  gleaming  bright;  but  behind 
her  there  is  that  chain,  that  iron  ring  which 
is  almost  tearing  her  head  open.  With  trem- 
bling hands  she  grasps  hold  of  it ;  she  tugs  at 
it  with  all  her  might.  At  the  very  moment 
when  Martin  is  about  to  climb  upon  the  foot- 
plank,  the  drawbridge  swings  back. 

Johannes  sees  nothing  of  it;  he  only  sees 
the  shadow  over  there,  and  the  gleaming  axe. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          201 

A  few  paces  further,  and  death  will  descend 
swiftly  upon  him.  Then  suddenly,  in  the 
moment  of  direst  distress,  he  thinks  of  his 
mother  and  what  she  once  said  to  the  enraged 
boy. 

"Think  of  Fritz!"  he  cries  out  to  his 
brother.  And  behold!  The  axe  drops  from 
his  hand;  he  staggers;  he  falls — one  dull 
thud- — one  splash:  he  has  disappeared.  Jo- 
hannes rushes  forward;  his  foot  hits  against 
the  draw-up  bridge.  Close  before  him 
yawns  a  black  hole.  "Brother,  brother!"  he 
cries  in  frenzied  terror.  He  has  no  thought, 
no  feeling  left,  only  one  sensation:  "Save 
your  brother!"  whirls  through  his  brain. 
With  one  jerk  he  throws  off  his  cloak — a 
leap — a  dull  blow  as  if  against  some  sharp 
edge. 

Trude,  who  is  half  unconsciously  clutching 
at  the  chain,  sees  a  long  dark  mass  shoot 
down  the  incline  into  the  white  waters,  and 


202          THE  SILENT  MILL 

disappear   into   the   foaming   whirlpool,   a 
second  later  another  follows. 

Like  two  shadows  they  flew  past  her.  She 
turns  her  gaze  upwards  towards  the  wood- 
work. Up  there  all  is  quiet ;  it  is  all  empty. 
The  storm  howls ;  the  waters  roar.  Fainting, 
she  sinks  down  at  the  river's  edge. 

Next  day  the  bodies  of  the  two  brothers 
were  pulled  out  of  the  river.  Side  by  side 
they  were  floating  on  the  waters;  side  by 
side  they  were  buried. 

Trude  was  as  if  petrified  with  grief.  In 
tearless  despair  she  brooded  to  herself — she 
refuses  to  see  any  of  her  relations,  even  her 
own  father.  Franz  Maas  alone  she  suffers 
near  her.  Faithfully  he  takes  charge  of  her, 
kept  strangers  away  from  her  threshold  and 
attends  to  all  formalities. 

There  was  some  rumor  of  a  legal  investiga- 
tion to  be  held  against  the  wretched  woman, 
on  the  ground  of  David's  dark  insinuations. 


THE  SILENT  MILL          203 

But  even  though  the  statements  of  the  old 
servant  were  too  incomplete  and  confused  to 
build  up  a  lawsuit  upon  them,  they  still  suf- 
ficed to  brand  Trude  Rockhammer  as  a 
criminal  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  The  more 
she  shrinks  from  all  intercourse,  the  more 
anxiously  she  closes  the  mill  to  all  strangers, 
the  more  extravagant  grow  the  rumors  that 
were  spread  about  her. 

"The  miller-witch,"  people  come  to  call 
her,  and  the  legends  that  surrounded  her 
were  handed  down  from  one  generation  to 
the  next.  The  mill  now  becomes  the  "Silent 
Mill,"  as  the  popular  voice  christened  it.  The 
walls  crumble  away ;  the  wheels  grow  rotten ; 
the  bright,  clear  stream  becomes  choked  with 
weeds,  and  when  the  State  planned  a  canal 
which  conducted  the  water  into  the  main 
stream  above  Marienfeld — then  it  degener- 
ated into  a  marsh. 

And  Trude  herself  became  entirely  iso- 
lated, for  soon  she  would  not  even  allow  her 


204          THE  SILENT  MILL 

one  friend  to  approach  her,  and  closed  her 
doors  to  him. 

Before  her  own  conscience  she  was  a 
murderess.  Her  terrors  drove  her  to  a 
father  confessor  and  into  the  arms  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  She  was  to  be  seen  crawl- 
ing at  the  foot  of  a  crucifix  or  kneeling  at 
church  doors,  telling  her  beads  and  beating 
her  head  against  the  stones  till  it  bled. 

She  is  expiating  the  great  crime  which  is 
known  as  "youth." 


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